


You're Gonna See (That Sometimes Bad Is Good)

by thatiranianphantom



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: And have two active WIPs, And then there's me who bangs on my keyboard and posts like a madwoman, And there ain't none on this godforsaken website, But I can't reliably be counted on to do it myself, F/F, F/M, I am a notoriously slow writer, I just really needed a Cooper/Jones/Smith family fic, It makes me feel woefully inadequate people, Just take that as a warning, Maybe I can end my unhealthily codependent relationship with the word counter, Really these are going to be little oneshots and that's somewhat comforting, So you know the old adage, There are people who edit and draft and get things beta'd, did you know, if you want something done do it yourself, look - Freeform, there's some meta commentary in here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:08:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 20,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24246268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatiranianphantom/pseuds/thatiranianphantom
Summary: "Somebody told me this is the place where everything's better and everything's safe."A series of oneshots exploring the Cooper/Jones/Smith Cohabiting Clan.
Relationships: Alice Cooper & Jellybean Jones, Alice Cooper & Jughead Jones, Alice Cooper/FP Jones II, Betty Cooper & Jellybean Jones, Betty Cooper & Original Charles Smith (Riverdale), Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones, FP Jones II & Original Charles Smith (Riverdale), Jellybean Jones & Jughead Jones, Jughead Jones & Original Charles Smith (Riverdale)
Comments: 194
Kudos: 152





	1. a man and a grocery store

**Author's Note:**

> I love Falice. 
> 
> It's a regret to inform you of that, because we all know what'll happen in the next season, but they earned their happy ending, damnit! 
> 
> Damn you writers, for being terrible at your jobs.
> 
> Anyway, this is the Cooper/Jones/Smith Cohabiting Clan, part one. 
> 
> (they can trademark that if they want. I gift it to them.)

**Prompt: FP and Alice reflecting on their teens sharing a room, and the fact that they have sex.**

* * *

  
  


FP is not often sent to do the grocery shopping for the Cooper Jones family. 

(“You’re good at so many things,” Alice had purred in his ear, and look, he wasn’t the smartest guy in the world, but the implication of “but not this” was clear)

It’s fine, usually Alice goes on her way home from work, and with all the kids in the house, she’s been working less, so it’s usually done by the time he gets home. 

But on one random Tuesday, he had received a list and a somewhat panicked text that had, in an uncharacteristic bout of incoherency for Alice, been a mishmash of the words “drug dealing”, “candy cone” and “escalator” and he had no earthly clue what it meant, but the point was, shopping was his job today. 

He prints out the list, and then promptly ignores it. He is the man of the house, damnit. He has (mostly) housed, fed and raised two kids. He is familiar with the Jones appetite. He can do something as simple as grocery shopping, and he doesn’t need a list to do it. He’s almost offended on principle. 

He throws his last purchase in the cart after grabbing them off the rack by the register, and his first clue should have been when the teenager checking out his purchases gives him a very strange look. 

(Two hours later, that assuredness and lack of list proves to be, as he should have anticipated, a disaster. The confidence that the grocery store had instilled in him was fairly useless in the face of a notably annoyed Alice Cooper, asking him what the hell she was going to do with a head of lettuce, three containers of tarragon, and a stick of unsalted butter.)

He’s relegated to putting the fridge items away, and if he’s reading her body language correctly, it will not fully atone for his grievous sins. 

He ran a gang. He survived jail. 

He meekly accepts the job of stacking yogurt in the fridge (“ _middle_ shelf, FP, my god!”) 

She unpacks the groceries for the cupboard and freezes when she sees the small boxes. 

“FP, care to explain this?” her icy voice cuts through the entire kitchen. 

He’s not looking, and the annoyance is what answers.

“For the last time, Alice, it tastes _exactly_ the same as salted butter,” he throws back. 

He’s whirled around a second later and her expression makes it clear that this was _not_ what she was talking about as she shoves the two boxes of condoms into his chest. 

“This seems an awfully presumptuous purchase” she says cooly. “We’re in our forties, FP.” 

He furrows his brow. “I thought that was obvious. One for you and me, one for Betty and Jug.” 

Later on, he’ll wish he could return to this exact moment, just to see the look on her face again. 

She inches even closer, her face a mask of anger. 

“ _Why_ ,” she hisses, “would Betty and Jughead need a box of condoms?”

See, FP _has_ a response. An immediate one, in fact. But he has not won any points today, and he senses the response he’s thinking is not the one Alice is looking for. His brain searches frantically for a safe response, any safe response.

“Because they...need to be safe?”

She doesn’t answer, and her face doesn’t change, and he’s starting to get a little panicked. 

“For when they...have sex?”

It’s maybe the word that sets it off, he’s not sure. But suddenly, the box of condoms drops to the floor and Alice’s hands cover her mouth.

“My Betty,” she gasps. “Does not have sex in this house!”

Okay, in retrospect, perhaps laughing was not the right response. There were perhaps better ones. But the thought is actually so blatantly false that he really can’t help it.

“Come on Alice, be serious.” 

Her eyes narrow, and he feels a bit flushed under her gaze.

  
“I would never allow such a thing, particularly, with _your son_.” 

(He lets that roll off his back. Sex is already off the table for him tonight, so really, pressing at this couldn’t really ruin anything.) 

“Alice, she’s seventeen!”

“Old enough to know better!”

“She’s seventeen and living with her boyfriend! As in, in the same room.”

Alice’s expression drops, but she still looks like this is genuinely news to her. 

“And you think they’re...having sex?”

He heaves a sigh. “Alice, hasn’t she flat out said that they were at least twice? What is this selective amnesia when it comes to Betty and sex?” 

She looks indignant, but he knows he’s not wrong. 

He sidles closer to her, encouraged when she allows him to give her a long kiss.

“We really have no leg to stand on, Al, when you consider Charles.” 

She heaves a long sigh and rests her forehead on his. 

“I suppose you’re right. They’re smarter than we ever were, aren’t they?”

FP nods. “Sometimes it seems like they’re running the sheriff’s department, and I’m the inept sidekick who can’t police without the help of teenagers.” 


	2. hell hath no fury like a twelve year old girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jellybean’s not crying when she comes home, and she does not want to talk about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys! 
> 
> I'm so glad you're loving this, it's so much fun to write. 
> 
> Really, it's helping me break my unhealthy relationship with the beast that is Word Count.
> 
> (Sample thoughts: if it's not AT LEAST 1000 words, I'M A HACK!) 
> 
> Anyway, here's some Jellybean and Alice bonding. Let's pretend Alice is not someone with somewhat....inconsistent characterization. This story is basically fluff, so it's just a fluffy drabble.

**Prompt: Alice and Jellybean bonding**

* * *

Jellybean’s not _crying_ when she comes home, and she does not want to talk about it.

Polly’s room had long since been converted into Jellybean’s space, complete with a darker paint job (“what is _with_ all the bubblegum pink in this house?” she had said) and 80s metal band posters on the wall. 

Jughead sleeps down the hall with Betty, in a similarly bubblegum pink room. Jellybean never misses a chance to tease him about it. 

“How’s life in Candyland, Jug?”

He groans and shoves her away, but it feels big-brothery and she likes it. 

In her own room, they’ve kept the luxurious bed. 

Jellybean had decidedly never had a 4 poster bed before, but it was as good a place as any to cry. 

Except not cry. She wasn’t crying. She wasn’t even sad. 

* * *

One by one, they tried talking to her. 

First FP, stumbling over some very awkward questions about “little shit middle school boys pressuring young girls” and promptly being kicked out.

Then Jughead, not faring much better, but earning a hint of a smile by asking who he needed to beat up. 

Then Betty, who received only a glare and silence. 

And finally, Alice, who didn’t so much try and talk to Jellybean as she did stride in like this was her own room and begin opening the curtains, against Jelly’s protests, tidying the clothes on the floor, opening the windows, dusting off the furniture with an old shirt, and ignoring Jellybean’s hisses to “go away, my _mom_ bought this house so this is my room!” 

(The word stressed was clearly not lost on Alice, but she doesn’t react).

“Well, if you’re going to refuse to let anyone help you, or do anything productive about what is clearly upsetting you, then we can at least clean this room.”

“I don’t want to clean this room, I want you to _leave_ .” It’s a tenuous hold Jellybean has on her emotions today, but she’s not going to _cry_. 

And Alice simply nods and tells her that she’ll be here until Jellybean decides to talk, which is frustrating, to say the least.

“You don’t have to. You’re not my mom.”

It’s the most hurtful thing she knows how to throw at her, but it doesn’t work.

She looks a bit affronted, but not angry. 

Which, in turn, angers Jellybean. She _wants_ Alice to be angry. She wants to rage at her, at anyone, so she is never forced to talk about Jessica Stern and her stupid ass name and what happened to day that she can’t talk about, and why she’s never going back to school. 

And maybe that makes some stupid ass tears spring to her eyes, but she _is not going to cry_. Crying is for assholes. She is not an asshole. 

And she will not give Jessica that power over her, even where Jessica can’t see her.

So when Alice sits on the bed, Jellybean turns her head away. 

“No, I’m not your mom. But I’m _a_ mom, and I know when people need to talk.”

She turns Jellybean’s chin toward her. 

“Even if they don’t want to. Even if they think that talking will just let the bad guy win.” 

_Shit_. 

It’s against her will, she swears. 

But the first sob comes out, and it’s all downhill from there, and suddenly her head is buried in Alice’s shoulder and she’s crying and Alice is rubbing her back and it’s stupid but kind of nice.

Gladys had never really held Jellybean like this.

_Life’s tough, JB. Put on a helmet._

And so she had. 

And Alice is not her mom, but this feels kind of...mom-ish, so she doesn’t hate it. 

It’s almost like a magic spell, like some weird voodoo mom-spell, but the whole story spills out. 

How Jellybean had maybe-kinda-sorta liked Jack Lauer, but she’d never tell him, and how that asshole Jessica had found out. 

And how she’d cornered Jellybean in the bathroom with a bucket of water sourced from the toilet to pour over her, while her lackeys had plastered the hallways with posters reading “Forsythia Jones loves Jack Lauer” 

  
  


(She gets called into the office and she _does not cry._ Even knowing Jack will never so much as look at her now and knowing Jessica’s parents are crazy rich and she’ll never get in trouble for this.) 

* * *

  
  


Alice sits with her. Watches stupid comedy cartoons. Makes her laugh once, even.

And maybe she’s kind of cool, in a lame Stepford Wives way. 

Alice slips it in between episodes of Nick and Morty that she’ll take care of Jessica, and refuses to elaborate.

But there’s kind of a dark look in her eyes, so Jellybean is intimidated, in a way, but the feeling of someone protecting her is not the _worst_ thing she’s ever felt. 

* * *

  
  


“You did _what_?” FP gapes at Alice, who, for her part, does not look the least bit contrite. 

“I swear to god, FP, if you had seen the little animal, you would have…”

“She was a twelve year old girl, Alice, and I am the sheriff!” 

“She was an evil little minion that tortured your daughter!” 

FP sighs, and tells Mrs. Stern to hold the line. The irate woman, who had called wondering why her daughter’s place on every extracurricular in Riverdale had been redacted, and why someone had called the principal and why her daughter’s locker had been filled with dirt, “ruining her Ralph Lauren shirt”, was not so easily mollified, so FP could still hear her ranting through the line.

“Dirt in the locker, Alice? How did you even get into a middle school with a bag of dirt?”

A ghost of a smile touches Alice’s lips, as she sits primly in his deskside chair, outfit perfectly pressed, not a hair out of place.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sheriff Jones. I had nothing to do with this, as I’m sure the security footage will reflect.

She leans closer, lips against his ear. 

“But perhaps now, that little shit will think twice about messing with Jellybean. All’s well that ends well, wouldn’t you say?”

* * *

  
  


("Thank you."

It's barely audible, but Alice catches it. She smiles, catches Jellybean's hand and picks at the dirt under her fingernails.

"I know you have a mom, Jelly. I'm not replacing her. But, anytime you want to let me, I'm happy to stand in." 

And at home that night, during their nightly after-dinner TV time, Jellybean sits next to Alice, and if she presses herself a little closer than usual, well, nobody says anything) 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, middle schoolers are the WORST. Thirteen year old girls are capable of evil, believe me. Middle school was over 15 years ago, but I remember I swear. 
> 
> Next up: Charles saves Jellybean from Falice and Bughead...stuffing the taco. Doing the no pants dance. Shucking the oyster. 
> 
> (you, dear reader, can expect lots more of these next chapter)
> 
> (good god, there could be teens reading this. Worse, children. Move along, kiddos.)


	3. room in the budget for brain bleach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It wasn’t as if their situation was typical. 
> 
> Charles knew this. It’s not an average-person thing to be spending all your time with your long-lost half siblings, or to connect with your parents by hiding a body.
> 
> Except, perhaps, if you were in Riverdale, where nobody seemed to blink an eye at these things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, you are all awesome. I am so glad you are loving this. I've gotten so many comments saying they needed a fic like this, and I am so with you guys, I wish we had more scenes of this crazy, weird family! But, sadly, time must instead be used for tickle plots. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy some Charles/Jellybean bonding.
> 
> (btw in show canon I am still convinced that dude is bad news bears. How is he running an entire operation with full FBI resources less than two years after joining? Also, does Charles have any character traits that are not "FBI agent" and "attractive"?)

**Prompt: Charles whisks Jellybean out of the house after hearing some....sounds, from Falice and Bughead.**

* * *

It wasn’t as if their situation was typical. 

Charles knew this. It’s not an average-person thing to be spending all your time with your long-lost half siblings, or to connect with your parents by hiding a body.

Except, perhaps, if you were in Riverdale, where nobody seemed to blink an eye at these things. 

Charles thinks of this place as equal parts weird and wonderful. Balancing so much pain with so much hope, especially recently. Being around his family was a feeling hard to describe. He had grown up alone, with no family. A gay orphan in a nunnery, so a less than ideal scenario. 

He’d assumed (or he’d been told) that he was unwanted, or that he had nobody, for most of his life. So he’d turned to drugs, and then he’d met Chic. 

That was a whirlwind of meteoric proportions, such that he was actually somewhat grateful for the drugs making the memories hazy. Waking up from that had led him to the FBI, and then to his family. 

He had always assumed the FBI held rigorous standards for admission, and that young, new agents taking over entire missions and departments was an impossibilities, but two years later, he is running an entire mission, and tumbles into the arms of his long-lost family. 

And Charles Smith, lifelong orphan, had a mother, a father, a brother and three sisters. Sometimes it didn’t even seem real. 

It was like he’d been in the cold all his life. Being around his family, it was like taking a seat by the fire after a long day. He wants to feel like that all the time, so he devotes himself to his family. 

* * *

And yes, their family is attractive. Almost unnaturally so, he knows. And his half-siblings are teens living together, so it’s not like this is unexpected. 

Still, the first time he hears it, it takes him awhile to recognize what’s happening.

* * *

  
  


It starts with encountering Jellybean on a Thursday, in what he assumes is an empty house. 

He hasn’t gotten to spend much time with his youngest half-sister. Any time at all, really. Organ harvesting cults and prep school psychopaths were quite all consuming. He had gotten to know Betty and Jughead a bit, had been (hopefully) able to offer them guidance, and support. They were incredibly strong for the frankly unbelievable amount of things they’d gone through in the last four years alone, and it was obvious how much they clung to each other through it. They were sweet together, and if Charles was interpreting it correctly, the situation involving them dating, and living in the same house with their also dating parents was something that everyone actively tried not to think about. 

But he hadn’t gotten much time with his youngest sister, and thus a current of awkwardness still lay underneath the surface of all their interactions. What do you talk about with a thirteen year old, he thinks? Is it too old for Barbies? Should he get her a Barbie as an ice breaker? 

Charles was never sure what to do, and as it happened today, Jellybean was the only one sitting at the kitchen table, biting her lip with a look of frustration on her face. 

He may not know her well, but she’s still his little sister, so he asks her what’s wrong. 

Algebra, as it turns out.

“Not only do we have to do this stupid crap, it’s worth 30% of our mark, and I can’t understand any of it! The  _ one _ thing math had going for it was that it was numbers. Now we’re throwing letters in there too?” 

He, as it happens, is good at algebra. He tutored several kids at the Sisters of Quiet Mercy. It was something he was good at, and being good at something gave him a small sense of value. He had something to offer. It came in handy then, and it comes in handy now, when it’s even better. Now he can help his little sister, and perhaps even influence her school career. 

He remembers the frustration, the confusion of his young pupils. He was always careful about his method of instruction. Never too much at once, repeat often, model and have the student repeat, and give plenty of praise. It was effective then, and he takes the same tack with Jellybean. She smiles, and on the second question, she completes the problem independently. Her face lights up. 

“Hey, I got it! Thanks Charles!” She offers her hand for a high five, and he enthusiastically complies. 

It’s nice, but nice things have never lasted long in his life. 

Today, as it turns out, is no exception. 

  
  
  


* * *

  
  


They were working their way through the third question when he hears it. 

It’s a long moan, and the dissonance of it in the family kitchen causes him to raise his head with a furrowed brow. It comes again, and his mind grasps at the fringes of what he’s hearing. 

There’s a muted, metallic sound, like a spring engaging, and then, he thinks he recognizes the voice as it gives another long moan. 

He  _ definitely  _ recognizes the voice when it says “Oh,  _ Juggie _ .” 

It slams into him like a dump truck at that point, and he can scarcely escape the gasp that makes Jellybean look up.

* * *

  
  


Look, it wasn’t as if this was unexpected. His siblings were teens. They were teens that had been dating for three years, and living together for the past year. They were young, attractive and hormonal. He’d seen them cuddle and kiss as they worked on cases. This was their home.

His brain catalogues this knowledge as if it’s a case file, but he’s fairly certain he’s not breathing, and it seems as if his brain can understand the case notes, but can’t actually ascertain the meaning behind it. 

Not even when he hears the voice of his half brother breathe out a single “ _ fuck _ ”, and hears what he can, on the fringes of his brain, process as bedsprings, start squeaking rhythmically. 

Oh god. 

_ Oh god.  _

They’re having sex. His half brother and his half sister are having sex and he’s standing beside his thirteen year old sister, frozen to the ground, in their kitchen. 

Charles has been on shootouts where he’s felt less frozen than this. 

He spares a look at Jellybean, who seems to be slowly catching onto the same thing. 

“Charles,” she says slowly. “Do you hear..” 

He’s frozen. He’s horrified. This is the prime moment of mortification in his entire life. 

And then. 

Oh god, and then. 

He’s trying not to listen, he would happily surrender his ears and his memory at this point, but the next noise is not Betty and Jughead.

He almost wishes it were. Those things he heard from them, they almost seemed charming compared to what he hears next, because the next sound is a crash against what sounds like a wall.

That, in itself, is not so bad, but after it comes a cry of a name. And he recognizes both the voice and the name. 

“ _ Yes _ ,  _ FP, yes.” _

  
  


* * *

  
  


Charles wonders if he has, in a past life, pissed off some sort of demigod, who is having a good laugh at his expense right now.

It’s the only explanation with any merit he can think of, because his ears are now being subjected to the sounds of both his half siblings and his parents having sex, and he’s standing there beside a thirteen year old. 

Look, Charles has had sex before. Many times. Good sex. 

  
And he’s stood in some of the scariest situations most people can think of, and some they can’t. Charles has had guns pointed at his face, been in the same room as a bomb about to detonate. He’s faced down serial killers without blinking. He is an FBI agent. He’s calm in a crisis. It came with the job. 

Which is why he really doesn’t understand his knee jerk reaction to this scenario, which is to, at the spur of a moment, wrap his left arm around Jellybean and press his palm to her right ear, while simultaneously twisting his head to attempt to block his right ear with his right shoulder. It’s phenomenally ineffective for both of them, as evidenced by the fact that not only do the moans continue, they actually gain frequency and volume. 

“Hey!” sputters Jellybean, and Charles Smith, FBI agent, uses his considerable wit to think of another solution. 

Which, as it turns out, is to grab Jellybean’s arm and yank her with him as he sprints at a breakneck pace towards the door. 

“Charles!” Jellybean shrieks. “What the hell is going on!” 

“We’re getting out of here,” he gasps. “You and me, we need to leave. Let’s go get a milkshake or something, anything, but not here.”

“But can I at least bring my homework to -” 

“ _ Forget about the homework, there isn’t time!”  _ He is only tangentially aware he sounds like a hysterical 35 year old soccer mom named Nadine, but the moans are reverberating in his head and he needs to leave. 

Oh god, his siblings are having sex. 

Oh,  _ fuck _ , his  _ parents _ are having sex. 

Realistically, he doesn’t think he slows down until they reach Pops and he has an obscenely large milkshake in front of him.

* * *

  
  


Jellybean is giggling hysterically. Her forehead touches the linoleum of the booth as she gasps for air. 

“God, Charles, your  _ face _ ,” she gasps. “You should see yourself right now.” 

He gives a mocking laugh. “Why are you not more horrified? It’s your family too.” 

“I’m a bit less...related, I guess. And it’s not like it’s the first time it’s happened.”

His eyes bug out. “It’s not? They’ve...done that before?”

She breaks into a fresh peal of giggles. “Oh my god, you can’t even say the word, can you? Why do you think I wear headphones? It’s not the first time I’ve heard them...what phrase may make you squirm a bit more….shaking the trailer?” 

He groans. “Please stop, I am already searching the prices of brain bleach.” 

She leans forward, a glint in her eye. “Doing the mattress dance? Knocking boots?” 

“I beg of you to stop. Talk about something else. Stock market. Rent control. Just, literally, anything else.” 

Jellybean grins. “Okay, fine, old man. Tell me your favorite song.” 

It’s an easy one. It’s been the same since he was seventeen. “ _ Great Gig in the Sky.  _ You?”

Her eyes bug out. “You listen to Pink Floyd?”

He grins, his mind clearing a bit. “Only obsessively. You? 

“ _ Echoes _ , but  _ Great Gig  _ is a close second.” 

“Hey, great minds.” 

“Charles, that’s so wild. I didn’t actually think old people listened to Pink Floyd.” 

He gives her hand a teasing, gentle slap. “Who are you calling old?”

“Old and prudish, that’s you.” 

He glowers playfully at her. “Hey, watch it. You Riverdale people may be used to this. Give an old man some time to adjust.”

(He walks her home hours later, insists she wait outside until he can check if the coast is clear, and walks home feeling sufficiently grossed out, but also warm all over.) 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, I couldn't use some of my favorite euphemisms because, well, Jellybean is 13. But I just can't resist so please look away if you are under the age of 18: 
> 
> \- ride the skin bus into tuna town   
> \- go home to play with the box the kid came in  
> \- lust and thrust   
> \- spelunking the bat cave   
> \- park the plymouth inot the garage of love  
> \- gland to gland combat  
> \- put that thing back where it came from or so help me
> 
> ....I'll see myself out.
> 
> Next one is going to be a surprise!


	4. dad, how do i

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FP’s earliest memory of Betty Cooper is at five years old. He and Alice try to stay away from each other, but he knows of Betty. Everyone knows of Betty. She’s tiny, but mighty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To your left, you'll see another example of Riverdale's inconsistencies, because despite the show canonically saying that Betty, Jughead and Archie grew up together, somehow the first time Betty met FP was after Betty and Jughead started dating?
> 
> Please, Riverdale. I lived in a small town. That ain't how that shit works. 
> 
> Also I forgot to put it in for the last three chapters, but if you have any requests, shoot them my way! I make no promises, but I will try!

**Prompt: Betty and FP interaction. When FP and Betty bonding is requested, FP and Betty bonding you shall get.**

* * *

FP’s earliest memory of Betty Cooper is at five years old. He and Alice try to stay away from each other, but he knows of Betty. Everyone knows of Betty. She’s tiny, but mighty. 

He drops Jughead off at kindergarten while Gladys is home with Jellybean, and he doesn’t want to leave his little boy there. Jughead is tiny, even at five. His hair is unruly, his clothes aren’t new, and he has an attitude that makes FP pity the teacher, even at this early stage. His boy is smart and he knows it. 

But around the other kids, Jughead fades into the background. Sometimes Fred’s boy drags him out to play, and FP always appreciates it. Archie’s a good kid, though he suspects that more by virtue of the little redhead not being the sharpest tool in the shed.

But when Archie isn’t there, Jughead keeps to himself, and that doesn’t bode well for kindergarten. 

Today, Jughead disentangles his hand from FP’s, and smiles. 

“It’s okay, Daddy,” he says. He holds up a copy of _The Giving Tree_. It’s tattered, like his clothes and his shoes. “I have my book. I’ll be okay.”

He wanders off to the corner of the yard, and while leaving is the last thing FP wants to do, he must. 

* * *

  
  


FP is barely out of the playground before Chuck Clayton’s body slams against his boy’s. As god as his witness, he is about to kick a five year old’s ass, but then, a flash of blonde tackles Chuck to the ground, pinning him and slapping at his sides. 

“Hitting...people….is...not...nice!” The girl huffs, her tiny arms flailing wildly even when a teacher plucks her off and chides her, and he recognizes Betty Cooper, in all her miniscule, perfectly dressed glory.

She is so much the picture of Alice Cooper, it makes something inside him ache. As soon as she is put down on the ground, she throws her arms around Jughead and asks if he’s okay. 

He is too frozen to respond, and that’s all FP sees before they are herded away by a teacher, but it warms him inside, and he feels just a little safer, leaving his boy there. 

(At the end of the day, FP has his son decidedly marched over to him, as Betty drags him by the hand and announces “Juggie is my best friend now!”

Something about the flush covering his son’s face tells him that both the nickname and the closeness may not have been entirely his idea, but it begins a trend. 

Jughead and Betty are attached, an invisible string between them, and are never pulled far apart. Jughead’s gaze is trained on Betty, stars in his eyes, and thus begins the course that will span years. 

And as well, the trend of his son’s inability to say no to Betty Cooper.) 

* * *

  
  


Betty watches out for his son, and FP watches out for her. Quietly, over the years. He has no right and they know each other only tangentially, but he watches her. She grows beautifully. She’s bright, responsible, and kind. She cares, and she never lets his son forget it. 

There’s something hiding behind her eyes, though. And he knows Alice. She’s strong, and she’s fierce, and she imbues these qualities in her daughter, but she has trouble seeing Betty floundering. 

He has no right, but sometimes he aches for her. He knows what it’s like to have expectations thrust upon you, to have a life expected of you, whether you wanted it or not. 

* * *

His son is in love, and it’s Betty. It’s never not been Betty. FP is fairly sure that Jughead has never looked at another girl, and even after he and Alice have fallen into place, even after all the crap these kids have been through, even after everything that should have torn them apart, Jughead looks at Betty like he did at five years old. 

* * *

  
  


He goes to sleep at night with Alice in his arms, and his kids asleep upstairs. It’s not perfect. No, it’s better. 

  
  


They are all together. Him, Alice, Charles, Jellybean, Jughead and Betty, so he finally gets the chance to know her up close. Betty is as strong as anyone he’s ever known. As strong as her mother, and then some. As strong as any of them have ever been. He can’t even count the amount of trauma that has forced its way into her life, and still, she smiles. 

His son smiles because she smiles. And happiness fills FP’s house, for the first time in his life.

* * *

  
  


One day, as the kids come in from school, he hears a sob. 

It’s Betty, but it’s such an uncharacteristic sound from her that he barely recognizes it. 

There’s a few more sounds then. 

A “Betty, we can fix it”, a “No, Jug!” and a slamming door. 

And then his son, wandering into the living room where he sits with Alice’s legs draped over his lap, and his boy looks dazed and confused. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Look, FP is no Rhodes scholar. But Betty is crying, and Jughead isn’t with her. An assumption can be drawn.

  
And so, Alice’s legs are shoved unceremoniously off his lap, and suddenly his finger presses into his son’s chest and his voice is booming. 

“What did you do to her, boy?” 

He’d like to say it’s less accusatory than he means, but really, that’s not true. He’s been accused of having a favorite child before, and it wasn’t either of his biological kids. That particular accusation started the time Jughead and Betty went to spend a weekend in Greendale, and he had called his son in after Betty had gone out to start the car. 

“Look, dad, I know what you’re going to say,” his son had begun, but FP had held up a hand to stop him. 

“If you do anything to Betty, I’ll kill you.” 

Jughead had looked at him with an odd, mock hurt expression. “You like her better than me.” 

He likes to think the wave he gave his son answered the question for him. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


But today, his son assures him that he did nothing wrong. The car broke down as soon as they pulled into the driveway, he says. They pushed it into the garage, and he’s no expert, but it didn’t look seriously damaged. 

“But Betty flipped out. She just shut down, and I told her we could fix it, but she pushed me away, and now she won’t talk to me. I don’t even know where she is.” 

Jughead is genuinely troubled, and FP takes a minute to reflect on what a good man he raised. As Betty goes, so goes Jughead’s nation.

But this one isn’t for him to solve. She doesn’t need her boyfriend for this. However, FP thinks he may know what she does need. And he knows where to find her.

* * *

  
  


Her sniffles are audible as soon as he enters the garage.

“Go away, Jug.” 

The tone is heartbreaking. Her voice wobbles, and he turns to see Betty, sitting against the garage wall, head buried in her hands. 

“It’s not Jug,” he says softly, sliding down next to her. “I figured he may not be who you want to talk to right now.” 

She sniffles. “I’m fine, Mr. Jones.” 

“FP, Betty. And you’re not. But you know what? That’s okay.” 

Her head shakes fervently. “No, I can handle it.” 

He nods. “I’ve no doubt you can, Betty. But if you don’t want to handle it on your own, I’m just saying….I’m here.” 

Her eyes well, and she looks away. 

She’s hesitant, and he knows why. By all accounts, Betty buries her feelings inside her. And he’s not her dad. 

But he could be. He could step in, help out. He wants to, wants to more than anything. This beautiful, strong girl shouldn’t have to carry so much on her shoulders, and especially not at seventeen. He wants so much more for Betty than what has been forced upon her. 

Saying that, he also knows her. He knows that _because_ of those things she faced, because of Alice’s teachings, she doesn’t share easily. It’s another sentiment he has in common with her. 

So he goes first. 

“I always wished I could tell my old man when something was bothering me. Never could, though. He was too busy enjoying the drinking and passing out parts of life.” 

She looks at him through shining eyes. “I’m sorry.” 

He smiles and lays a gentle hand on her knee. “Don’t be. I didn’t tell you to have you feel sorry for me. I just wanted you to know that if you ever need to talk to someone, someone who’s not your mom, or Jug….I’m always here. I’ll listen.” 

The words have an immediate effect. She crumbles into tears, and he doesn’t even hesitate to reach out and pull her into his arms. He sees a hurting child, and he’s a dad. 

He holds her for long moments as she sobs. Her tears soak his shirt, but he doesn’t care. This time he doesn’t have to be there from afar. This time he can help. 

As the tears finally slow, Betty lets out a shaky sigh and lifts a hand to the car. 

“The spark plug has to be changed.” 

He senses that thought is incomplete, and waits. 

He waits for long, drawn out minutes, before she finally says it. 

  
“The person who taught me to change the spark plug was my dad.” 

_Oh._

He doesn’t think of Hal much anymore, but it shouldn’t be a shock that Betty does. He runs a hand up and down her shoulder, trying to make her feel safe enough to continue. 

Eventually, she does. 

“Every single memory is tainted. And the worst part of it is….most of the time, he wasn’t bad. Most of the time, he was my dad. He taught me how to ride a bike. He took me camping for the first time. He taught me how to fix cars. He carried me up to my room when he knew I was only pretending to sleep. He used to make me feel so... _safe_ and now, all of that is gone. My entire childhood, gone.”

His heart aches for her, for this poor kid that everyone has let down. He holds her a little tighter. 

“I’m so sorry, kid. If it’s any consolation, who he was doesn’t change the fact that you turned out pretty great.” 

The corners of her lips turn up in a wobbly smile. 

“Thanks, FP.”

“I’m serious, Betty. You may think you’re cursed with his legacy, but it’s not true. He brought everyone around him down with what he did. Just, darkness. But you? You make everything brighter.” 

It sets off a fresh round of tears, so much so that she has no response. But that’s okay. It’s his turn now, to take some of this burden off of her. It’s something he’s proud to do. 

“I’m proud of you, kid. And whoever your father was, however unfair it is to have done this to you, it doesn’t make those memories wrong. You are still allowed to be happy when you think of those things. And then you pass them on to your own kids, and you make sure there’s no sadness tainting that memory.” 

Betty gives a long exhale, but he feels her shoulders relax. “You think?”

“Hey, I may not be the best example of how to do it, but I can tell you, it’s going to be different for you. I know it.”

She breathes out a long breath, but he can tell the words have sunk in. From there, they sit in silence, cold concrete of the garage wall propping them up.

* * *

“FP?”

“Yeah, Betty?” 

She hesitates. “Thanks for being here. I needed a….well, I needed someone like you today.”

He smiles and gives her shoulders a squeeze. “Anytime, kid. I mean it, anytime.”

She smiles back, and a beat passes. The air feels lighter, he thinks. Just a bit lighter. 

“Now,” he stretches to his feet and holds out a hand to her, pulling her up. “I think we better go tell Jug you’re okay.” 

She grins, a real grin. “I guess so. He worries.” 

“Just because he cares. And because he’s been standing with his ear pressed to the door.”

Betty giggles. “How long do you think he’s been there now? Twenty minutes? Longer?”

There’s a pause, and then a very sheepish voice floats from the other side of the door. 

“....have not.” 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: these are going to be short, I need to stop feeling like anything I write under 1000 words has no value  
> Also me: 2000 words and still going babey
> 
> But I mean. Baby Bughead. I couldn't resist.


	5. dear sister

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She imagines it may be like it was when they were small. When Polly would climb into her bed and hold her so she wasn’t scared, and they’d talk until they couldn’t keep their eyes open any longer. When the world fell away, and it was just them. Sisters, always. 
> 
> Or, Betty, Jughead, Charles and Jellybean go to visit Polly, and it teaches us who our family truly is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, boy. 
> 
> See, this was the prompt that was most queued up and ready to press play on, so to speak. It all flowed out pretty easily, but it was not really the prompt I wanted to do, because of the way mental illness is portrayed in the show. That is to say, not well. I am not a Polly fan, and not every character can be a sympathetic character. That said, the Polly of Season 1 bears little to no resemblance to the Polly of Seasons 2-4. The last thing I'd want to do in this is to demonize mental illness. As someone bearing two mental health diagnoses, I am not cool with how little detail and attention is paid to mental health on the show. However, that's a rant for another day. Just know that you will find a mentally unwell Polly in this, and if that is something that is particularly triggering for you, I reiterate that nothing is more important than your own mental health, and you may want to click off. 
> 
> Anyway, off the heaviness. Have some Cooper/Jones/Smith kids family bonding.

**Prompt: Betty visits Polly, plus Cooper/Jones/Smith sibling bonding, and a soupçon of Bughead adorableness.**

* * *

They make the plan to go in or around a Wednesday. 

She doesn’t tell her mom. They’re closer now, but Polly is still a sore subject between them 

( _ “I love you most!”.  _ Betty still isn’t sure what that means.) 

And FP...he supports her mother. He supports her. He’s been so good for her mom, so stabilizing. Betty had seen her mother smile more in the last few months than in her whole life. It’s long overdue, and it is wonderful to see her mother so happy. But while Betty knows FP cares about her, he doesn’t understand this. He wouldn’t understand. 

So she doesn’t tell either of them. She tells Charles, and he nods with a soft expression on his face, lays a hand on her shoulder and tells her he can get them an FBI vehicle for the day. 

She’s grateful, especially when he promises not to say anything. 

* * *

She’s not yet eighteen, and while being a senior has its perks, she’s missed a  _ lot _ of school. The plan was loosely formed, and Jughead was in before she had actually asked him. But she’s a minor, and she’s not totally sure how she’s going to get out of class. 

(In the past few months, she’s used just about every excuse she can think of, and then some, to get out of class, and she’s fairly certain her teachers are more surprised when she  _ is _ there than isn’t. It isn’t what she wants, considering her future at Yale, so she’s trying to course-correct.) 

She’s considering asking to use the bathroom and sneaking her and Jughead out the window, when both of them are called to the principal’s office. 

There’s been a family emergency, Mrs. Bell tells them. Her mother called, and wants them both home. 

A family emergency. It fills her with a sense of panic, because what is there left to go wrong? Is her mother sick? Is it FP? Is Jellybean okay?

Jughead wraps an arm around her and escorts her outside, to where a van waits. As soon as she ducks inside, she finds Charles, a smile on his face. 

“Charles? What happened? Is….”

He looks stricken, then immediately contrite. 

“Oh, god, no, Betty. Everything is fine. I just needed a legitimate excuse to get you both out to visit Polly. Figured they wouldn’t ask too many questions about a family emergency.”

She heaves out a long breath of relief, but a note of panic sets in. “You told my mother about this?”

He looks down sheepishly. “If, by your mother, you mean my secretary Janice, then yes, your mother. And ‘your mother’ called both schools. Let’s hope she sounded enough like Alice to fool your secretary.” 

A giggle escapes her at the thought of Charles cornering his unwitting secretary and pretending to be Alice Cooper. 

“Being my mother would take a certain amount of gravitas. Wait... _ both _ schools?”

Charles toes at the ground, his expression sheepish once more, and indicates the last row of the van, where Jellybean sits, happily chewing on a licorice. 

Both Betty and Jughead swivel their gazes to Charles, who is red faced, and bears very little resemblance to the tough professionalism he usually projected. 

“Apparently,” he mumbles, “I was an unsatisfactory brother if I didn’t include her.” 

  
  


* * *

  
  


The drive is barely an hour, but Betty’s foot bounces on the floor of the van. She tries to keep conversation with Charles and Jughead, yet the excitement fills her. 

She’s going to see her sister again. 

She’ll get to talk to Polly.

She imagines it may be like it was when they were small. When Polly would climb into her bed and hold her so she wasn’t scared, and they’d talk until they couldn’t keep their eyes open any longer. When the world fell away, and it was just them. Sisters, always. 

Betty had always loved having a sister. A built-in friend. Someone who knew what it was like to clasp a pillow over your ears to drown out their parents fighting. Someone who shared in the trauma of having your entire childhood snatched from you the moment you found out your father was a serial killer.

Sometimes Betty wonders if she idealized every part of her childhood, including Polly, but she so longs for some of what she lost back, she rarely allows herself to give it much thought. 

She feels Jughead’s hand squeeze her knee, thumb rubbing in tiny circles. He’s trying to comfort her, in his own small way. She is endlessly grateful for him, always.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


It is decidedly a nice building. The van parks among a shaded line of trees. Betty sees wide, fenced gardens, brightly painted buildings, lounge chairs warmed by the sun. It’s comforting to know this is the place her sister is.

But it’s still a treatment facility. One of multiple that have housed her sister. And her sister is still here against her will. 

Tears well in her eyes as she frantically blinks them back. This is a good place. She knows Polly is here. Nobody is hiding her this time. She  _ needs _ to be here. 

A hand slips into hers and squeezes, and to her side is Jughead, her sweet, supportive Jughead. 

“Hey,” he smiles, brushing an errant tear from her cheek with his thumb. “Don’t judge a treatment facility by its cover.” 

It’s a callback, and it makes her smile. They’ve come so far since then, what feels like a million years ago, when they were 15 years old. Skipping school, riding the bus, finding Polly at that horrible place. But there are still parallels. Then and now, Jughead stands beside her, just as she knows he will always be. 

  
  


* * *

_ Jughead _ . 

The facility is nice. He grasps Betty’s hand as the orderly leads them to Polly’s room. There’s none of the gray, stone austerity of the Sisters of Quiet Mercy. The nurses smile, they welcome them, they let he, Charles and Jellybean go in with Betty. 

He makes it very clear to Jellybean that they’ll sit at the back and not talk. She pouts, but agrees. 

It’s good for Betty. Or it will be, he hopes. But he sees things, things like the hesitation in the nurses’ eyes as they lead them down the hall. Or the pause before they open the door. Or the added security outside Polly’s room.

He’s never known Betty to be unrealistic. His girlfriend knows her sister is sick. But mental illness is hard to conceptualize, he supposes. And when the brainwashing of the farm is added in...he’s perhaps a bit hesitant too. After all, the last time Betty spoke to Polly, she tried to threaten her as their father. The time before that, she tried to convince Betty that she was inherently bad, and always would be. 

Jughead loves Betty, will build her up as many times as she needs, but god, it puts an expression on her face that he hates seeing. He hopes against hope that this turns out well for her. 

He squeezes her hand one more time before they go in. 

  
  


* * *

  
  
Polly is lying on the bed. 

Betty lights up, runs over to her while calling her name, hugs her. 

And Polly….Polly barely responds. 

He sees the look in Betty’s eyes as she pulls away. She’s devastated, but putting on a brave front, as always. 

“Pol,” Betty implores. “It’s me, it’s Betty. Your sister.” 

Polly looks at Betty and her eyes are blank. “My sister?” 

Betty nods encouragingly. 

Jughead notices Charles laying a hand on his shoulder, beckoning him to the back of the room. He’s reluctant to leave her, always is, but Charles is right. This is about Betty. 

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


When it goes bad, it goes bad quickly. He’s known many good people in his life, and many bad. Many who were sick, and their actions showed it. He’s not sure which Polly is, if he’s honest. But something changes in her eyes, something turns hard and cruel. 

The gaze turns on him, and it calls him trailer garbage, he and his sister. That doesn’t hurt him. It’s hardly the worst thing he’s been called. But it hurts Betty, which is so infinitely worse.

  
He sees her eyes well and steps toward her without realizing it. 

“Polly,” she breathes. “You know Jughead. We grew up with him. You don’t...you don’t mean that.” 

It doesn’t matter how they grew up, Polly tells her. She’s with him now. She’s poisoned. 

Tears spill down Betty’s cheeks, and she seizes her sister’s shoulders. Jughead knows that look in her eyes. She’s looking for any trace of Polly, the Polly she knew. 

The biggest fear he holds is that the Polly that Betty knew is gone forever. He has never wanted to say that to her, because it would break her heart. They’ve never lied to each other, but he can’t be the one that does that to her. 

“Polly,” Betty cries. “This isn’t you. Please, please, try to remember.” 

Betty drops her hands and clasps Polly’s clenched fists in her own. 

“Remember how we used to lay in the same bed as kids? I was so scared, Polly, and you told me that it was all going to be fine. As long as we had each other, we’d be fine.” 

She heaves out a sob, and Jughead wants to run to her more than anything. 

“We could be that again, Polly. You could get better, we could be a family again, we could take the twins - don’t you want to see your babies? - and we could all be...happy.” 

Her voice wobbles, and even Jellybean sits up straight, with Jughead catching a glint of tears in her eyes as her hand moves to grab his, and then Charles’. 

Polly’s voice is hard, like her eyes. She stands, she advances toward Betty, and Jughead can hold himself back no longer. 

“We aren’t a family, Betty, you took my real family away! The farm abandoned me, the only ones who were ever there for me. And you took Edgar away from the twins - he was supposed to be their father!”

Betty heaves a sob. “Polly…”

“He was right, Betty. He was right about all of it. I should have listened. He  _ told _ me about you. He told me you were dangerous, you always had been. That you’d poison everything you were near, and I couldn’t let you touch me. But then you locked me up in here. You hated that my real family was the people at the farm.” 

“Polly, no, I..”

Jughead wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her away as Polly tries lashing out at Betty. It triggers Charles into motion too, because he jumps up, pushes Jellybean back towards the door and moves to hold Polly’s arms back. She screams, and it alerts a guard, who comes to restrain a thrashing Polly. 

“You’re evil, Betty!” she cries. “Edgar was right! You’re a killer, you’re just like Dad, you always will be!”    
  


She’s moved to the bed, but Jughead refuses to allow Betty to see any more, as he guides her out of the room, sobbing. 

They make it all the way back to the van, and Betty curls into herself on the seat, batting away Jughead’s arms as he tries to embrace her. 

They trade looks of hopelessness as the girl they all love sobs on the seat, fingernails clenched into her palms. Jughead crouches near her, ready for whenever she’ll let him in. 

He wants to make this better. He wants to make all of this better, because she deserves none of this. But he just...doesn’t know what to say. 

  
  


* * *

None of them are really expecting it when Jellybean leaves Charles’ side and slides down next to Betty, laying her head in Betty’s lap. 

Jughead goes to move her back, but to everyone’s shock, Betty accepts it, and she strokes the hair of his tough little sister, until the sobs finally calm. 

Jellybean doesn’t sit up until what he’d estimate is a full ten minutes later, then she finally allows Jughead to take her in his arms. 

“Baby,” he soothes. “I’m so sorry.”

She sniffles. “I thought it was better, Jug. After my mom, and FP, and then finding Charles….I thought I could fix everyone.”

She lets out a shaky breath, and he strokes her back in a manner he desperately hopes is soothing. 

“But I can’t. She’s...she’s just gone, Jug. I have no sister.” 

It’s a heartbreaking statement, which makes the dissonance of the snort Jellybean lets out all the more stark.

“Jelly,” he says, his tone warning. 

“That’s just not true,” she huffs, but her tone is more tender than he’s heard in a long time. 

His sister reaches out and takes one of Betty’s hands. 

“I’m sorry about Polly, Betty. I know it’s not the same, but...you still have a sister left.” 

Betty’s fingers lace with Jellybean’s. 

“You want to be my sister, Jelly?” she sounds like she can hardly believe it. 

A smile spreads on Jellybean’s face, a real one. 

“As long as you explain to me how you find  _ my brother _ attractive.” 

It breaks the tension, and a laugh bubbles from all of them. The heaviness of the day remains, but he feels the air shift as his sister lifts some of the burden Betty carries on to her own shoulders. 

  
  


* * *

Charles and Jellybean play a hand slapping game on the way home, one she thoroughly trounces him at. They stop at Pop’s on Jellybean’s insistence, and it’s a good thing because an hour in, after a heated debate on the merits of rabbits versus ducks (he still doesn’t know how they got there), Jughead feels Betty relax a bit beside him. He hears her laugh, and it sounds in time with their siblings. 

Maybe they can’t fix it. Maybe everyone who they want to be here can’t be, but that doesn’t mean they can’t make something new. It doesn’t mean that it can’t still be beautiful. 

  
  


(In later retellings of this, the Polly part will hurt less, and the story will come to focus more on how easily Jellybean can manipulate Charles, and how Janice the secretary never quite forgives Charles for his request.) 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, it's super sweet. But also, just....SO damn weird. I love this weird-ass family. What other show would? None, that's who. 
> 
> Anyway. Tossing ideas around for next chapter. Floating the idea of a Falice proposal. 
> 
> Be safe and well, my lovelies. You are all valuable and cherished, exactly as you are.


	6. maybe she'll say yes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we have the Falice proposal!

It’s Jughead that first brings it up, right before Wednesday night date night. 

That’s a tradition stricken months ago. Wednesday night is date night. No working late, no kids, no responsibilities, just get in the car, drive to a town, any town, nearby, and pick a restaurant for dinner. 

Sometimes the restaurants are good, sometimes they’re bad, but it doesn’t matter. They’re together. 

Stupid as it sounds, twenty-five years of apart later, FP only wants to be together. 

So they drive, and they eat, and then they park the car somewhere remote. 

(It’s also during a Wednesday night date night that they discover three rather salient pieces of information - the bed of the truck is not as soft as it used to be, they’re not as young as they used to be, and they’re not as quiet as they think they are, if the traumatized faces of the hikers passing by are anything to go by.) 

* * *

And most nights, when they arrive home, the kids are all there. 

Jellybean dominates and insists that for them, Wednesday nights are movie nights, and she often gets to pick.

By FP’s understanding, Betty and Jughead had a chance once, and they forced them into “this weird murder documentary, I don’t understand this fixation that they have. Does this town not have enough murder to go around?” 

Charles is adorably beholden to Jellybean. He protests her choices, but only tokenly. She barely has to widen her eyes, and mumble something about how good big brothers would let their baby sisters choose, and he’s dead in the water.

So usually, when FP and Alice arrive home, Charles and Jellybean are watching a movie while they thumb wrestle, and Betty and Jughead are cuddled onto the couch. That first time, they insisted FP and Alice join them, and then it becomes family movie night.

FP would be lying if he said that wasn’t as good a part of the night as any.

* * *

It’s one of the times where Jellybean is sashaying from a room after mocking Jughead again about his and Betty’s tendency to fall asleep during said movie nights.

“You guys are  _ not  _ eighteen years old. You’re a married 35 year old suburban mom and dad with four kids and a mortgage!” she yells as she leaps from the room.

“That was  _ really _ specific!” he shoots back, while FP chuckles. 

(Sometimes it does seem like Betty and Jughead are an extra pair of adults in the house. Often he wishes they could have held onto their childhood a bit more, but at least they have each other. He doesn’t need to dig deep to know how much his son adores Betty.)

He’s a bit lost in thought, so he’s not paying full attention when Charles enters the room. The brothers exchange a smirk, and Jughead rounds on his father with a pointed question. 

“So, Dad, you ever thought about it?”

“Hmm? Think about what?”

Charles and Jughead exchange a look of exasperation.    
  


“Marriage, Dad.” 

“I mean...I did think about it, son. I  _ was _ married.” 

Jughead rolls his eyes. “Don’t be dense, Dad. You know I mean you and Alice. Ever think about asking her to marry you?”

He’s taken a sip of water at the time, and it was probably a bad move, because suddenly it’s stuck in his throat, and he’s coughing hard.

Charles thwacks him on the back, a glint in his eye. “Yeah, FP. Ever think about making an honest woman out of Alice?” He grins. 

“Don’t ever let her hear you say that, boy, or it’ll be the last thing you say,” he coughs, hoping furiously that he’s not blushing like a thirteen year old. 

He’d be lying if he said he’d never thought about it. Things were good now, really good, with him and Alice. He couldn’t imagine how marriage would make things better. A piece of paper wasn’t needed for him to know they were in this for the long haul.

But then again. A ring on her finger, one he put there. Her in a white dress. Something small, their kids there. Dancing with her, being able to call her his wife. 

Yeah. It didn’t suck. 

  
  


* * *

And by the smirk on his sons’ faces when he looked up, his face had made his feelings obvious. 

Thus began seventeen minutes of the most paradoxical proposal intervention FP is sure there ever was, his two grown sons pestering him to work up the nerve to propose to his girlfriend.

(“Be bold! Like the time she showed up at your trailer!”

“Just like that, Dad! Get a ring, a bold lip color and some questionable bangs, and get in there!”) 

He has no idea how the boys even know about that, but the smile doesn’t leave his face and maybe, just maybe, he’ll consider it.

* * *

He  _ won _ ’ _ t  _ consider it until he asks a few people first. Not her parents, of course. Even if he were messed up enough to think of Alice as property to be exchanged, her parents are dead. 

No, he asks Jellybean if it’s okay, red faced, and she squeals like the thirteen year old she is, and jumps into his arms, shouting affirmatives so loud he has to beg her to pipe down, lest Alice hear them. 

And then he asks Betty, similarly red-faced. Her vote is important, perhaps the most important, so he’s the most nervous for her response. 

She smiles shyly and nods. FP feels a weight lift off his chest.

“Really?”

Betty nods again. “You make her happy,” is all she says. 

He wraps her in a bear hug before he can think better of it, but keeps the embrace when he feels her fingernails digging into his shoulder. 

“I’ll be there when it’s your turn too, kiddo,” he whispers as he finally lets go. 

She’s blushing furiously, she’s also smiling. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


The kids help set up the site in the only open, grassy area the trailer park has. 

It’s an odd location, he knows. But it’s where they began. Where they resumed. Where they’re not in a place that has been invaded by others. It’s a place they can start again. 

He’s not an aesthetics guy, but Charles apparently is. He dictates precise placements of each candle, each wreath of fairy lights, plans exactly what they’ll be dining on. 

(They try mocking him, but on the threat of him rescinding his services, everyone falls silent.) 

* * *

  
  


He meets her at Pops, and he can’t breathe. 

She looks beautiful, but then she always looks beautiful, he’s thought so for 30 years. 

He’s jumpy, to the point where Alice asks him what’s wrong, and he barely stumbles out some explanation of having dessert somewhere else. 

She seems to accept it fairly easily. He also doesn’t miss the wink Pop Tate gives them as they leave. 

* * *

  
  
  


She gasps when she sees it. It looks great, sure, he’ll make sure to thank Charles tomorrow, but he’s only looking at her. 

He takes her to the picnic blanket (some cliches are cliches for a reason) and sits them both down. He tries to relax a little during desert, but his stomach is tying itself in knots. He’s pretty sure he’s never been this tense before, to the point of his stomach rejecting any offerings. 

It’s not the perfect time to do it, perhaps. And the ring isn’t expensive, and maybe the words he says aren’t the perfect words. 

But maybe they are, or maybe they don’t have to be, because she cries and she says  _ yes _ . 

The most wonderful word in the world, FP thinks in a sweeping declaration. 

She’s crying, and she kisses him. He kisses back, and there’s wetness on both their cheeks, so maybe he’s crying too. 

The ring is perfect. 

The kids jump out from behind a nearby trailer and they laugh and cry. Jellybean wraps herself in Alice’s arms, and his fiance kisses his daughter’s hair. 

It’s 30 years later than he thought he’d be doing this, and they’d been to hell and back in those 30 years, but FP would go through all of it, all over again, if he’d still have his life, his sobriety, his kids, and Alice.

* * *

  
  


(Charles will say, even years later, that daisies would have added to the ambiance far more than gardenias and what was he thinking, but FP honestly can’t imagine this moment as being any better than it is. It’s stored in the mental box of his most cherished memories, the ones he will keep until his very last breath.) 

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am headcanoning Charles with a feather boa and glasses, French accent and a general air of stress. I love it.


	7. i just want to see her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She kisses him as he leaves Pops. 
> 
> She stays to talk to Veronica, and he goes home. 
> 
> She’ll see him tonight, she says, she’ll take the truck home and see him tonight.
> 
> So he leaves with a kiss, and she stays. 
> 
> Issa Bughead chapter!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, this could probably stand alone. But yeah, this was the next one queued up and ready to press play on. Hoping you enjoy! I say this every time, but it may be a minute before the next chapter. I have been churning out fanfic like crazy and I need to stop ignoring my to-do list. 
> 
> Here's hoping this one doesn't put spaces in super weird places. I swear to god, they're not there in the google doc and it drives me out of my mind.

**Prompt: Bughead angst with some Alice/Jughead bonding. More of that to come!**

* * *

She kisses him as he leaves Pops. 

She stays to talk to Veronica, and he goes home. 

She’ll see him tonight, she says, she’ll take the truck home and see him tonight.

So he leaves with a kiss, and she stays. 

* * *

  
  


He’s not worried when seven o’clock rolls around and there’s no word from her. He sends her a text with a literature pun and a heart. She doesn’t respond, so he figures she and Veronica must be catching up. 

He’s really only slightly worried around eight, when she’s still not home, and he hasn’t heard from her. 

Jellybean comes in looking for Betty to braid her hair (a recent tradition) around 9, and he tells her she’s not home. That time, there’s a note of worry in his voice. He’d be fine if she would just text him back, but she doesn’t.

He calls her, and there is no answer. 

Now, the worry is unmistakable. Betty never ignores him. Betty always calls him back. 

Tonight, she doesn’t. 

Tonight, however, Veronica calls. Veronica calls and asks if he’s seen Betty, because Betty is not with her. Now, panic unfurls in him, forms a lump in his throat and a pit in his stomach. 

He calls her, over and over again, begging her in his mind to pick up,  _ pick up _ . 

But she doesn’t. At 9:37, he shrugs his jacket over his shoulders and runs to his motorcycle. He’ll hit Pops, and if she’s not there, he’ll hit every single other place she could possibly be until he finds her. 

He’s halfway out the door when his phone rings, and the caller ID says Betty, with a little heart. 

Relief courses through Jughead. She’s okay. Maybe she just got held up along the way, and she was heading home now. She’d apologize for missing his call, tell him she’d see him soon. She’d come home, braid Jellybean’s hair, snuggle in bed with him while he read her pages from his latest chapter, and they’d fall asleep together, like every night. 

He accepts the call with an audible exhale. 

“Betty, thank god, I was -” 

But it’s not her voice that he hears. It’s a male voice, professional but serious, who asks if this is Jughead Jones, and if he knows an Elizabeth Cooper.

“Yes,” he squeaks out, the dread in his stomach curling ever tighter. 

“This is Officer Kelly, of the Riverdale Police Department.” the man tells him. “There’s been an accident.” 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Jughead didn’t know until this point that he was capable of living while not breathing. He calls Archie on the way to the hospital and stutters out something that he doesn’t remember, until Veronica takes over the call and manages to pull the words Betty, accident, and hospital out of him. 

It was a bigger truck. A bigger truck hit Betty as she was driving, and that’s all his brain is able to process. 

For once, he’s grateful for Veronica’s take-charge nature, as she tells him they will call Betty’s mom, and meet him at the hospital. 

He has no doubt she’ll do it, but there’s a note of panic in her voice that he’s never heard before. 

* * *

  
  


It’s five minutes, or five hours, or five days of him pacing the waiting room later, when everyone arrives. They pile on him with questions, but he doesn’t know, he doesn’t  _ know _ anything more about what happened. He only knows she’s hurt and he isn’t there.

“They won’t let me see her,” he breathes out raggedly. “They said she’s hurt and there was an accident, and  _ they won’t let me see her _ .” 

He doesn’t think he’s crying but he must be, because suddenly his FP is wrapping Jughead in his arms. 

He wants to accept the comfort, but all he can think is  _ Betty needs me and I’m not there _ . 

He pushes away and slides into a chair, knees curled up. He pictures one thing and one thing only, Betty screaming as the truck hits her. And she’s alone. 

* * *

  
  


He paces. They wait for hours. Surgery, the doctors told him. She’s in surgery. What a horrible word. 

The operating room must be cold, and she’s surrounded by strangers, and he just wants to be with her, just wants to hold her hand. 

Apparently, he’s crying again, as he presses himself against the decrepit wall. 

A voice says his name softly, a voice that belongs to Alice Cooper. 

“Betty,” he chokes out. “I need to...she hates hospitals. She must be scared and I just...I just want to see her.” 

He slides to the floor, and Alice Cooper, in her pencil skirt and flawlessly pressed blouse, slides in next to him and lays a hand on his arm.

Betty’s hurt. Betty’s maybe….maybe dying and he’s not there. Images flash through Jughead’s mind. Betty, being pulled out of the mangled truck. Betty, on a stretcher. Betty, bloody and broken. 

He’s not picturing life without Betty. He  _ can _ ’ _ t _ , because he’s fairly certain there is no life without Betty. No life with the color sucked from his world, no life while living with his heart missing.

His shoulders are heaving before he really realizes he’s sobbing. 

“I love her.” It comes out on a wail. 

He can barely see straight, but he sees Alice nod, and he feels her take him into her arms. 

“I know you do, sweetheart,” she soothes, running a hand over his hair. “I know you do.” 

* * *

  
  


Jellybean is scared. He can see it.

His little sister was tough and she always had been. Jellybean had been through too much in thirteen short years, and, like Jughead, had developed a hard outer shell. 

But things had changed since they went to visit Polly. Jellybean had been wandering into their room more, asking to spend more time with Betty, and unceremoniously banishing him out of his own room without a care. 

He didn’t really mind. 

He knows how much losing Polly had hurt Betty, and how happy her and Jellybean’s developing relationship made both of them.

And now, his sister curls into the hard hospital chair, legs tucked under her chin, tears shining in her eyes. 

She loves Betty too, he knows. And Charles, who sits ramrod straight and looks around at the mishmash of a family, not knowing where to go first. 

Their family is there. Betty would like that, he thinks. He flashes back to just last summer, how he and his dad had taken her in, how her face was tear stained and she told him she was alone.

What a difference between then and now. 

Now, they are surrounded by family. He’s surrounded by support, but he only wants Betty. 

* * *

  
  


Broken arm requiring pins, and lots of bruising, possible head injury, they’ll have to wait. 

That’s what the doctors tell him.

But they also tell him they’re “optimistic”, and they let him see her. 

He can’t get there fast enough.

The hand he holds is warm and that’s comforting to him. She’s breathing. He hasn’t lost her for good. There will be a tomorrow for them. Many, in fact. They’d spend the rest of their lives together, and he wants that to start right now. 

But the bruises on her face and the cast and the breathing tube itself are stark reminders of just how close he came to losing her for good, and it’s that which pushes out the words.

“I’m going to marry her.” 

Charles’ face snaps toward him, but Jughead isn’t looking.

“What, you mean….today?” 

It’s a fair question. Once the words are out, Jughead realizes how much he means them, and just how little time they are promised. 

“When she wakes up. Maybe.” 

There’s a pause, and then he hears Charles slide into the chair next to him and sigh softly. 

“Jug, I love you guys. And I know how scared you were, believe me. But...I don’t think marriage is something you enter into at eighteen, on a maybe. Or something you do impulsively, because you had a scare.”

Frustration coils in Jughead. Charles doesn’t get it. It wasn’t just a scare. And it doesn’t matter that they’re 18. Jughead knows he could be 78 and still not want anyone other than Betty, for the rest of his life.

As if he’s sensing Jughead’s thoughts, Charles lays a hand on his brother’s arm. 

“I’m not saying don’t do it, Jughead. Actually, I feel like you and Betty getting married is almost an inevitability. But I feel like...when you do it, it’s because you both really want it, at the right time.” 

Jughead hates it, but Charles makes sense. Plus, he doesn’t feel like prime decision making for Betty would be the time where she was just out of a coma. 

* * *

_ Their first apartment is tiny. The kitchen is barely big enough for one person, let alone two, and they have to lay out rat traps all over. The bed creaks and the sink leaks (Jughead jokes that he can squeeze a children’s book out of this somehow). It probably should have been condemned, but it doesn’t matter, because it’s theirs. Jughead fixes the leak, in the process spraying himself with dirty, muddy water. He weaponizes this and chases Betty around the tiny apartment, relishing in her shrieks and giggles. Betty builds them a new bed frame out of thrift store scraps, and they wash the bedding three times before they dare sleep in it. They buy an old buffet for their dishes, and cook with their bodies pressed together. _

_ They barely have enough for rent, but once a week they get burgers from the local fast food joint and spread a blanket out at the park to eat them. It’s quiet and perfect, and Jughead knows it’s a tradition that will continue long after they’re married, after they rise in their careers, after their children are born.  _

* * *

The day before she wakes up, they try to make him go home and sleep. He refuses, though the exhaustion is bone-deep. 

“Just to sleep, shower and eat,” they say. “We’ll keep watch, we’ll bring you right back. It’s just one night.”

But it’s a whole night. He’s fairly certain he can’t sleep without her, so he stays. 

And the next day, dazed green eyes open, and tears spill down his cheeks and he doesn’t ask her to marry him then but he will, he will.

Veronica bursts in, emotional like he has never seen her, and carefully takes Betty in her arms, sobbing. 

“Oh,  _ B _ ,” she cries. “Never, ever do that again.” 

Betty smiles and tells Veronica she’ll do her best. 

Many more people collapse onto Betty, sobbing, during that day. Her mother, who is still crying in FP’s arms two hours later. Jellybean, trying fiercely to hold back the tears, who falls asleep attached to Betty’s side. Charles, who squeezes his sister’s arm and gives her a gruff “Welcome back, sis.” 

And then him, late at night, when everyone else has gone home. It’s paradoxical, she was the one in the accident, but he’s the one curled into her side in the tiny hospital bed, sobbing, as her hands stroke through his hair. 

  
  


(He doesn’t ask her that day, no, but a week later, he starts saving for a ring. Six months later, he buys it.) 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I listened to the Broken Bridges soundtrack as I wrote this. It showed up in my Spotify recommended. My god, it's been 84 years.....
> 
> Anyhow, follow me on Tumblr for sneak peeks! thatiranianphantom dot tumblr dot com.


	8. weird is a matter of degrees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Living in Riverdale, there was a constantly evolving definition of weird, so much so that eventually, you got used to it. Weird was no longer weird. As things unfolded that the rest of the world would deem too odd to exist, they learned to take it in stride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one. Wow, I wanted to do this one for so long. Honestly, the fact that NOBODY has commented on how freaking weird this family is....#justriverdalethings. 
> 
> Also, I have no idea what the Yale dorms look like. I would assume they are fancier than most, because Ivy League, but I couldn't find any pictures. Also, what do I know, I went to college in the town where they filmed Silent Hill, and it was JUST as classy as you'd expect. Last time I was in the town I went to college in, I hadn't been out of my car two minutes before some random person on the street asked me if I had clonazepam, or diazepam, or "any of the pams". 
> 
> Yeah. That happened.

**Prompt: We’re from Riverdale. Weird is a matter of degrees.**

(If you get that reference I will love you forever.) 

* * *

Living in Riverdale, there was a constantly evolving definition of weird, so much so that eventually, you got used to it. Weird was no longer weird. As things unfolded that the rest of the world would deem too odd to exist, they learned to take it in stride. 

Their mishmash of a family was no exception. Something that they had fallen so into the routine of was normal to them. 

Or perhaps, a certain Riverdale version of normal. 

They hadn’t truly realized there was anything abnormal about their family until the day they are dropped off at their dorms. 

* * *

  
  


Betty and Jughead had decided to spend the first year of their Yale career in the dorms, leaving their roommates up to fate. An experience, they had noted, that they wanted to have. 

Nonetheless, JB had finally been the one to voice how useless that seemed, considering they hadn’t spent a night apart since Jughead was at Stonewall.  _ Could _ they even sleep apart, she had mused? 

They had pointedly ignored her, and move in day had finally arrived. 

Alice had convinced FP to rent a truck, since they were moving two in, and Betty and Jughead had completed the laborious process of separating their belongings, after living together for the better part of a year. 

Jughead’s dorms were on the west of campus with the boys, and Betty’s a fifteen minute walk away. They mapped out the routes as soon as they arrived, ignoring JB’s smirk. 

Betty’s roommate was a tall brunette named Laura, who bounced up to Betty and introduced herself. She had moved in the day before.

She seemed friendly enough. She wasn’t Veronica, but she seemed a fairly amenable roommate, and Betty had a bit more faith about how this year would go.

* * *

  
  


For all its Ivy League splendor, though, the size of Yale’s dorm rooms left a lot to be desired, and Betty had packed perhaps more than she realized. It wasn’t long before all family members were deputized into an assembly line to move all the boxes. 

Quite a few people in and out, so Betty noticed Laura staring at the steady stream of people. 

“Is this all your family?” She asked. 

“Mostly,” Betty smiled, as Alice and Jughead laboriously carried some of her books in. “That’s my mom, and that’s my boyfriend.”

Laura hummed in acknowledgement, and perhaps looked Jughead over up and down. A prickle ran up Betty’s spine. She was about to say something, when Charles, sweating heavily, struggled into the room. 

He dumped a box next to them. “Last box for me, little bro,” he groaned to Jughead. “My back is killing me.”

“Don’t FBI agents have to pass a fitness test?” Jughead grinned. “You’re getting old. Also, Betty, Jellybean told me she’s invoking her sister’s right to not move, but rather sit on the bed and pass judgement on others.” 

Betty laughed. “Tell Jelly she has two more boxes before she can invoke the sister’s right.” 

“Noted,” Jughead said. “Come on, big bro. Let’s get you an ice pack and a nice wheelchair. Perhaps a rousing game of mahjong.” 

They stumbled out of the room, and Laura curiously looked toward Betty. 

“Boyfriend’s brother? That’s cool that he came to help out too.”

Ah, so the conversation had to come up. Betty had probably been kidding herself, thinking she could avoid it. Once unpacked, there would be pictures everywhere anyway. Laura was bound to ask eventually, best to get it done with now. 

“Yeah, he’s my boyfriend’s brother, but he’s also...my brother.” A light blush appeared on Betty’s cheeks.

Laura was visibly confused. “Wait, I thought he said he was your boyfriend’s brother. And the sassy kid was your boyfriend’s sister. But you said that guy is your brother, and the kid is your sister?” 

“Yeah, it’s….complicated.” 

(It’s not weird. Really, it’s not weird. Not even when her mother and FP come in, trading kisses, and Laura notes how she calls her mother “mom” but FP by his name.) 

“So he’s...not your dad?” Laura sounds hesitant now. Almost as if she  _ has _ to know, but doesn’t  _ want  _ to know.

“No, he’s not my dad, but he’s my...stepdad, I guess? Mother’s boyfriend?” 

“I guess.” 

There’s a long pause, before Laura breathes out a weak “okay…”. 

Betty makes note to answer questions about her family as little as possible, and luckily, Jellybean arrives and plops herself on the bed, sensing no tension. Laura is offered a stick of gum, which she quickly declines. 

Betty is endlessly grateful for Jellybean’s intervention, and she even makes Laura laugh a bit by comparing their brother/boyfriend’s attempts to move her belongings to a race of the elderly.

(“Jughead’s coming in hot...hasn’t looked this keen since his last hip replacement, but oh no! Will Charles come in, motorized wheelchair ablaze, and steal the trophy out from under him?”) 

* * *

  
  
  


It doesn’t go any easier at Jughead’s dorm. His roommate, a tall criminology major named Michael, seems to catch on a bit quicker than Laura, so the entirety of move in day is basically explaining their family. 

“So your stepmother is also your mother in law, and you and your girlfriend share a mutual half brother, but have decided all other siblings are shared siblings, though one who would technically count as a sibling is the person you’re dating, while your father and her mother are also dating?” 

Jughead heaves out a sigh. “Yes.” 

Michael nods. “And that’s...not weird?” 

Jughead throws his hands up. 

“I don’t know what to tell you, man. It’s not weird, it’s Riverdale.” 

(None of them end up invited to the wedding, but later they call Veronica and ask her perspective on this, as someone who knows them all well. 

The pause after “is it weird?” tells them all they need to know.) 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do I even say what is next anymore? It's basically whatever I'm feeling at the moment. Again, if you have any suggestions, feel free to leave them in a comment!
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed!


	9. lost in this moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s time to tell them.
> 
> Now?
> 
> Now. 
> 
> It’s said quietly, but its effect is instantaneous. 
> 
> “We’re getting married.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a part of a Bughead wedding! 
> 
> So for this one, I downloaded Grammarly, which was stressful because it insisted I pay for premium, so I did, and now it keeps picking apart the same 4 mistakes. 
> 
> I'VE RESOLVED THEM, GRAMMARLY. 
> 
> Also, my dear readers, my mother has had a prolific 20-year career in journalism, and she used to edit my school essays, which I thought were decent until they got to her. Suffice it to say, she had suggestions. Well, Grammarly is the new iteration of my mother. 
> 
> Also, Grammarly edited this note and according to them, the tone is admiring. NOT SO MUCH, GRAMMARLY. 
> 
> Ahem. Anyway. This chapter, full warning, does not actually contain the proposal, nor the wedding. But like, tell me if you want that. 
> 
> Enjoy, my dear ones!

**Prompt: Bughead get ready for their wedding.**

* * *

They tell everyone else during family dinner. 

Family dinner is a relatively recent development, but it’s nice. It’s nice just to have everyone together, to have six different conversations going on at once. JB is telling Alice about “that bitch Stacey Mortenson,” and Alice is gently chiding the language but looks scandalized herself. Charles is busily chatting with FP about a new piece of evidence found that day, and by Jughead’s estimation, laboriously explaining how phone tracking can garner evidence for what is at least the sixteenth time. 

Her hand squeezes his leg, and he looks up at her. They’ve been together so long by this point that he can read her like a book. 

There’s fear in the wide green eyes, but he knows what she’s saying. He always does. 

_ It’s time to tell them. _

_ Now? _

_ Now.  _

It’s said quietly, but its effect is instantaneous. 

“We’re getting married.” 

* * *

Four heads snap to them, conversation ceasing instantaneously. 

All of them seemed convinced they’d misheard him at first, so he repeats it. 

“Betty and I are getting married.” 

They’d expected a round of “ _ what _ ”’s, mainly from Alice, but they come from all four sides, in as many intonations. JB squeals it in excitement, Charles sounds perplexed, FP sounds worried, and Alice sounds absolutely scandalized. 

They had known there would be objections. They’re barely eighteen, and they aren’t even in college yet, they have so much time for this, all of this was expected. 

But why would they wait? They knew. Even now, they knew they would be together forever. Why wait, when it was just waiting for the sake of it? 

  
  


That’s the end of family dinner that night. 

Post “what,” there is the interrogation. Again, expected. Alice tries to drag Betty up to their room, but they link their fingers and refuse to be separated. 

(Jughead likes to think that’s a good sign.) 

He’s glad the proposal was just them. It’s a memory he tucks away to revisit over and over again. 

She’d said yes right away because they both knew. They’d be together forever, and they wanted forever to start then and there. 

It’s hard to explain how much he loves Betty. It’s like she’s slid inside him, become an essential part of him, as natural as the air he breathed. 

But still, he was nervous. Nobody ever proposes without a seed of doubt, he guesses. So his heart thumped, and his voice shook, but she still answered with the greatest word in the English language.

“Yes, Juggie.  _ Yes _ .” 

* * *

Their family tries to talk them out of it, but when it comes down to it, they are fighting a losing battle. 

Alice deflates. It’s not because she doesn’t like Jughead, he knows. It’s not even because she disapproves of their relationship. It’s because of all the reasons society says they shouldn’t do this. 

But Jughead doesn’t care what society says. He only wants to be married to Betty. He only wants to be able to call her his wife. 

His  _ wife _ . The word turns his stomach, in the best way. 

Alice lays a hand on Betty’s arm. “Betty, Jughead...you two are eighteen. You’re barely adults. You think that you want this, but you don’t know what this means. You don’t know what this will entail.” 

Betty’s not even fazed. She smiles serenely at her mother, squeezes Jughead’s hand. 

“I want this, Mom. What it means to be married, well, that’s something we can learn together.” 

Alice pinches her nose, then looks to FP for support. 

His eyes are shining, but his face is tired. He loves Betty, and Jughead knows this. He’s even happy for them, deep down. But he’s worried. That’s the primary emotion, Jughead thinks, and in no small part due to both his and Alice’s failed marriages. 

Jughead’s not worried, though. If every marriage in the world failed, but for one, that marriage would be his and Betty’s. He’s sure of it. 

“You’re so young,” Alice breathes. It’s what they expected. It’s what everyone will say. “I’m sorry, Betty, Jughead...I just think this is a mistake.” 

Betty straightens her back. She won’t back down, she never does. 

“We’ll elope. We’re 18.” 

It’s taken as if it’s a threat. Alice recoils as if it is. 

It’s not the way they wanted them to find out or the way they wanted them to react. But it’s effective. 

Especially when Alice asks them when they’re planning on doing it, and they tell her this summer. Before they even go to college, FP notes. 

They want to be married before college. They want to be married right now, but summer will do. 

* * *

They don’t come around, exactly. Or, Alice and FP don’t, at least not at first. Jellybean and Charles,, n the other hand, are ecstatic. Jellybean comes into their room with her laptop and shows her eagerly googled pictures of bridesmaid dresses and Charles...Charles goes above and beyond. She’d seen this side of him when FP proposed to her mom, but when he emails her a 50 point questionnaire surrounding color scheme and its associated flowers, dresses, and bands, she suddenly regrets telling him he could help with the planning. 

She makes the mistake of half-assing it the questionnaire. They want a small wedding, ten guests at most, nothing fancy or formal. 

But she half-asses the questionnaire, and the next morning is met with Charles’ incensed gaze. 

“ _ Lilies,  _ Betty? Do you want this wedding to look like it was incepted in a literal barn? Gardenias are the clear choice; I only put lilies in there to test if you were paying attention. They will be  _ entirely _ wrong for the color scheme.”

(Betty and Jughead weren’t aware that they had a color scheme yet.) 

* * *

She was so excited to tell Veronica. Her best friend had apparently not been told about the proposal and had been more than a bit miffed, but there were tears in her eyes as she hugged Betty. 

“I’m happy for you, B.”    
  


She was, Betty knew. But there was an underlying tone to her voice, one that’d been there since she and Archie broke up. Perhaps it was a temporary breakup. Betty didn’t know. But she and Jughead consciously kept the coupling to a minimum. 

However, on the idea that she could help plan the wedding, Veronica lit up. 

  
  


But Veronica joins forces with Charles, and if they were to ever change career paths, Betty thinks they would be unstoppable supervillians. In mere days, they have gone from just learning about the wedding, to flooding her email inbox with color schemes, flower arrangements, corresponding suits and dresses, and a list of potential photographers.

Betty and Jughead are expected to not only comply but display a level of enthusiasm that they don’t particularly feel, on pain of death. 

Sometimes they dare make a suggestion, and either Veronica or Charles look so absolutely scandalized that they stop suggesting. 

Eventually, they settle on stressing  _ very _ pointedly that the themes of this wedding will be simple and intimate; those are their only requirements. 

( _ That means no turtledoves, no multiperson procession, no elephants, no balloon arch, and especially no musical numbers,  _ Jughead stresses. Veronica and Charles nod, but Jughead distinctly sees Charles cross a few items from his list of ideas.) 

* * *

A week after they tell everyone, her mother comes into their room, kicks Jughead out, and hands Betty a small box with tears in her eyes. 

The box contains a delicate necklace with a silver heart charm. It’s beautiful, and she throws her arms around her mother, tears streaming down both of their faces. 

It’s a statement in and of itself. Her mother is accepting this. She’s supporting them. 

(She doesn’t know that downstairs, a very pointed “if you hurt Betty” talk is going on between Charles, FP, Jughead, and Jellybean. They had come up with creative ways to dismember and kill him, Jughead tells her later. He’s actually most terrified of Jellybean.) 

But here, now, Betty and her mother share a moment. Alice runs a palm down her daughter’s face. “My little girl,” she says. “So grown up.” 

The moment is broken when Alice’s phone beeps with a text. They have a visit to a bridal boutique tomorrow, Alice informs her. 

Betty protests that they are going for  _ simple _ , and bridal boutiques are not simple, but Alice, true to form, will hear none of it. Her little girl will get a formal dress, apparently. 

  
  


* * *

JB comes along, and so do Cheryl and Veronica. The combination thereof means Betty is roped into trying on at least thirty dresses. But when the right one comes along, she knows it. It’s a scene straight out of a bad reality show. It just feels  _ right _ . It’s a simple dress, knee-length, white, and lacy. Perhaps not a traditional wedding dress, but everyone tears up when they see her, even JB. Veronica snaps a picture to send to Charles, followed up by several threatening messages on precisely who is allowed to see this picture. 

She leaves most of the arranging to Charles and Veronica, which is, in one way, a relief. Even a simple wedding seems to take quite a bit of planning. On the other hand, she’s a bit afraid of what she may find on her wedding day. 

  
  
  


Her wedding day. It feels insane to say out loud. So normal, in their world of murder and serial killers, and just weeks ago, they were in high school. 

Sometimes it does strike her just how  _ young _ they are, but she also feels absurdly lucky. She found the person she’ll spend the rest of her life with at five years old, and she gets to have him in her life forever. She’s so lucky. She rests her chin on Jughead’s chest, and sighs with happiness. It feels earned, after all this time.

* * *

It comes as a surprise to precisely nobody that they invite nobody from Stonewall. 

“What, you think Bret Weston Wallis wouldn’t be there, gift in hand?” Jughead jokes to her as they ponder the list. 

“I think he’d be there, but not to show his support,” Betty snickers. “He’d be the one shouting ‘I object!’ mid-ceremony.” 

Jughead’s brow furrows in confusion. “You think he was that against us?”

“No, I think he was that into  _ you _ .” 

The statement paints a look of disgust and absolute shock on Jughead’s face. “ _ Into _ me?”

Betty looks at him incredulously. Surely, there was no way he didn’t know. Bret had not made it subtle. 

“Jug...you didn’t know that Bret was completely into you?”

Again, Jughead looks appalled. “Like…he liked me?”

“I’m almost 100% certain that’s why he got into this mess, Jug. The tape, the framing, everything.” 

Jughead gives a long groan. “Oh god, he’s going to haunt us forever, isn’t he? Years from now, he’ll insist on our kids calling him Uncle Bret!” 

She laughs, but then stops at the words. “Our kids?”

Jughead’s face schools into a more serious tone. “Yeah. Our kids.” 

Warmth pools in Betty’s stomach, and she leans over to curl up in his lap. “How many kids will we have?”

Jughead blushes furiously. “I mean...I haven’t thought about it that much.”

“ _ Jug _ ,” her tone conveys her disbelief. Jughead sighs. “Four, I was thinking. A girl, maybe twin boys. Then another girl.” 

Betty grins. “That’s a lot of kids!” 

Jughead smiles back. “Perfect amount, I’d say.” 

Betty groans as she heaves herself up. “Easy for you to say, mister. You don’t have to give birth to them.” 

* * *

They get to see the location in Pickens Park the morning before the wedding, and both of their hearts are thumping with nervousness. What were they thinking? Leaving Veronica and Charles to this? This could only go wrong.

Betty gasps when she sees it. Jughead is speechless. 

A gentle curve of flowers marks the place where Pop, who is marrying them, will stand. The aisle is dotted in soft pink flowers, the chairs have a white swath of cloth over them, and it is beautiful. Precisely what they wanted, simple but lovely. 

Toni, the photographer, has already taken what she calls “establishing shots”. 

It’s perfect, and it’s surrounded by their family and friends. The last few years have felt like a neverending battle, and finally,  _ finally _ , they are at the finish line, surrounded by love. 

  
  


They refuse to spend the night before the wedding apart, but they only lie in bed together. Jughead’s fingers stroke through Betty’s hair and she smiles against his chest. Tomorrow they’ll be husband and wife. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy (late) Canada Day to all my fellow Canadians! Let's make the needed changes to make our country better this year! 
> 
> Also, Charles has the nervous energy of a French wedding planner and Bret was 100% in love with Jughead. These are untenable facts.


	10. the museum of knives and fire (the park)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s not hard to steal the twins from Cheryl and Toni for the day. The “terror twins” have been particular trouble recently, Cheryl tells them with her usual dramatic flair.
> 
> (It’s belied a bit by the fact that she does seem to have a hard time letting them go.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back, babydoll!!
> 
> For real though, I just had very little inspiration for awhile. Officially over this quarantine business. Canada is slowly reopening, but I find my job kind of...unfulfilling, even though I'm on work from home, so it's been a bit of a rocky few months. 
> 
> Anyway, this thing doesn't even top 900 words! I have mixed emotions about this.

**Prompt: The Cooper/Jones/Smith siblings take Juniper and Dagwood out for the day, because unlike some writers, we remember they exist.**

* * *

It’s not hard to steal the twins from Cheryl and Toni for the day. The “terror twins” have been particular trouble recently, Cheryl tells them with her usual dramatic flair.

(It’s belied a bit by the fact that she does seem to have a hard time letting them go.)

Betty tries to see the twins as much as possible. Losing Polly to her illness still hurts her deeply. She wants Polly to come back, wants her to remember Betty and her children. She doesn’t want the twins to grow up not knowing their mother. Or worse still, knowing their mother is alive but doesn’t recognize them. 

All of them losing Polly, it still hurts. She tries to bring herself around to the fact that she lost her true sister years ago. 

But seeing the twins so happy and well cared for does help. Spending time with them helps. Dagwood (she still winces at the name every time) is the spitting image of Jason, but with strawberry blonde hair and bright, laughing eyes. Junie is more shy, like her mother, sharing her brother’s blonde hair and green eyes. 

She tries to take them out once every two weeks, at least. Jughead comes along often, and the twins love him. It warms her to see Jughead with them. 

And today, Charles and Jellybean come. They call it a “sibling day,” which still kind of sticks with Betty, given she and Jughead’s relationship. 

Charles has clearly not been around children much, that much is made clear when he comes with five pages of “preliminary research.” He rattles off a list of “how to care for babies like an expert. 

(“Feed frequently. Take outside. Avoid speaking loudly.”)

He’s terrified of the babies, shying away from them when they reach out and looking at them with more caution than an average human should. He keeps a wide berth and lets Betty and Jughead take control. 

So, of course, the babies love him. They giggle at him, they reach out for him, they let out pitiful, insistent wails until he holds them. 

Charles, their brother, the FBI agent, former drug addict, who has faced serial killer and bombs, looks abjectly terrified holding toddlers. 

Jellybean is by so much the fun aunt. She wants to take them riding bikes and roll them down hills and happily roughhouses with them in the grass.

The contrast is stark, Betty and Jughead note.

* * *

Charles also seems to have some odd ideas regarding safety, particularly for a federal agent. Betty and Jughead suggest taking the twins to the park, and Charles looks absolutely aghast. 

“The  _ park _ ?” He gasps. 

“No, Chuck, the museum of knives and fire.” Jughead grins.

Charles is not amused. “Do you have  _ any _ idea how dangerous the park is?”

Betty’s brow furrows in confusion. “I feel like the park is a pretty standard place to go with kids, Charles.” 

Charles launches into a tirade about how parks have terrible construction, and needles, and “MSG everywhere, Betty!” 

Betty assures him the twins will not be eating the play structure, so their chances of taking in MSG were somewhat limited. 

He huffs, but comes along anyway.

* * *

At the park, Betty and Jughead settle the twins on the swings, pushing each twin. Jellybean begs to try, and she pushes Dagwood so high he nearly touches the top bar. 

He giggles, but Betty lays her hands over Jellybean’s and reminds her. 

“Slowly, Jelly. He’s only two.”

She huffs out a breath and brings the boy into her, tickling his sides. 

“Mom and Dad are a drag, aren’t they, buddy?”

* * *

For how reportedly dangerous the park is, the day ends up being a good one. The twins run and laugh and giggle, Charles and Jellybean obliging their every wish. Betty and Jughead don’t get much relaxation, even with the backup babysitters, because Charles and Jellybean seem to have no concept of safety for two-year-olds. They have to remind them frequently not to overfeed the babies and then take them on the merry go round, that they cannot go head first down the slide, and absolutely not, they cannot play “airplane” by tossing the babies to each other across the park. 

“It’s not on the almighty research list, Charles, for a reason!” Jughead sighs, wondering, not for the first time, if he actually is the younger brother. 

They are called “mom and dad” several times that day, which becomes less and less like playful ribbing and more and more like an accusation. Like “mom and dad” were in reference to a crotchety old couple waving their canes at the children on their lawn.

The day is over both when the twins start rubbing their eyes, and when Charles and Jellybean begin snapping at each other. 

They return sleeping toddlers to Cheryl and Toni, and sit their siblings down at the kitchen table, sliding a plate of food in front of them. 

“I’m not hungry,” Charles mumbles. 

“I don’t remember asking,” Betty responds smoothly. “Eat.” 

(It’s not a request, and Jughead notes it’s to Charles’ benefit that he seems to recognize that.)

They send both their siblings to bed soon after, Jellybean in her room, and Charles on the couch. 

Jughead slips his arms around Betty’s waist as they regard their sleeping siblings.

“They grow up so fast,” he says with a laugh. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know the fun part about Riverdale's absolute refusal to let anyone outside the core four have consistent, well developed characterization? 
> 
> They can be anything you want, baby! Literally, nothing is OOC, because OOC requires established characterization! 
> 
> Also, Grammarly says this story sounds anxious. It's Charles. He worries loudly. A man after my own heart.


	11. no reasons to chase me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It kind of becomes a story in two parts, one for each of them. The Betty side and the Jughead side. Both sides teach them the same lesson.
> 
> It starts with this: Betty and Jughead go to college, and then Betty and Jughead break up. It’s not a big, dramatic fight. It happens during their first year of college. They leave their thirteen-year-old sister, and big brother at home, and move to different parts of the country. Betty to New Haven, Jughead to Iowa. It’s mutual. They’re far apart, they’re at college, surrounded by new people, and never known life outside of each other. It just feels like the thing to do at the time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have made the executive decision to stay up writing this till 12:30 as someone whose shift starts at 7:15 and who chases children around all day. 
> 
> Perhaps it was not a smart one, but the nap when I get home is going to be so good.

**Prompt: Betty/Jellybean and Jughead/Alice bonding.**

* * *

It kind of becomes a story in two parts, one for each of them. The Betty side and the Jughead side. Both sides teach them the same lesson.

It starts with this: Betty and Jughead go to college, and then Betty and Jughead break up. It’s not a big, dramatic fight. It happens during their first year of college. They leave their thirteen-year-old sister, and big brother at home, and move to different parts of the country. Betty to New Haven, Jughead to Iowa. It’s mutual. They’re far apart, they’re at college, surrounded by new people, and never known life outside of each other. It just feels like the thing to do at the time. 

Jughead’s heard tell that many people break up when they go to college. It’s not uncommon. 

What is uncommon, though, is sharing a family.

They break up, and while they know what that means for them, they’re not sure what that means for their family. Their parents are supportive. They try to talk them out of it, at first, but Alice comes up for the weekend and dries Betty’s tears (they go on long after that weekend, but she doesn’t tell her mother that) and FP drives up and sits with Jug for the same weekend. There’s little said, but he’s there.

But family holidays, that’s a bit trickier. As they approach the first month post-breakup, the protocol remains unclear, and Betty is due back in Riverdale for a visit. Jughead won’t be there, so that’s a comfort. But there’s still Sister Saturdays. It’s a tradition established in the time Betty and Jellybean live together, and the name is JB’s suggestion. It shoots a thrill through Betty, as well as no small comfort for the gaping hole Polly left, so she accepts it. Once a month, they get milkshakes and see a movie, just the two of them. She remembers thinking Jughead had tears in his eyes at seeing this tradition begin, but like any and all thoughts of Jughead, she forces it out of her head. 

As to the situation at hand, it’s not lost on Betty how she and Jellybean were initially connected via Jughead. And now Jughead is gone. 

_ Shit _ . She blinks down the tears. She’s spent a month crying, surely it has to end eventually? 

Would Jellybean even want to see her? Could she even look her in the eye? Betty is really, really scared to find out. She has thought of every excuse in the book to get out of going, but she promised her mother, and incurring the wrath of Alice Cooper is the last thing she wants to do now. Her mother has sounded particularly emotional these last few phone calls, so Betty doesn’t want to change it. 

Although, perhaps, chancing it is exactly what she’s doing when she knocks on Jellybean’s door, heart pounding, bag affixed to her side. 

The thirteen-year-old takes approximately eight years (or perhaps one minute) to come to the door. It’s the first time Betty’s seen her in a few months. She’s a bit taller, Betty thinks. 

“Betty?” 

Betty swallows hard and holds up her car keys. “Movie and milkshake day?”

It’s met with silence. Betty can feel her heart dropping into her stomach.  _ Stupid _ . Of course, Jellybean didn’t want to spend any time with her anymore. She’s nothing to her now. They’re not sisters anymore, it was foolish to think they would be, and - 

Betty’s thoughts are cut off by Jellybean throwing her arms around her waist, arms wrapping tight. 

Her brain processes it slowly. Jellybean is hugging her. That has to be a good sign, right? 

“You remembered,” Jellybean mutters into her shoulder and Betty melts into the hug. “I was so worried, but you remembered.”

* * *

  
  


The movie is decent, but Betty honestly wouldn’t care if it was the worst she’d ever seen. Jellybean giggles beside her, so she’s okay. 

Pops sends her a smile when he sets down their milkshakes. 

Jellybean is digging into her strawberry shake and ranting about “that stupid asshole Jessica Stern” when the words leave Betty in what can only be described as word vomit. 

“You know that I’m always going to be there for you, right?”

Jellybean’s head snaps up, eyes locking on Betty. Her gaze is soft and affectionate. A sister look. Betty drinks it in. 

“I just wanted you to know that…I know we...I mean, me and Jug...it had nothing to do with you. And it shouldn’t change anything. I mean, it  _ won’t _ change anything. We’ll still be...we’re still sisters. And I’m always there for you.” 

She feels better when it’s out, even if it’s said in possibly the stupidest way imaginable. 

Jellybean shifts incrementally closer to her. “I know, Betty.”

“You do?” 

“Yeah. I never doubted it.”

It’s greatly relieving to hear, and a small chip away at the awkwardness she’s sure will come with their first encounter after the breakup. 

“You still love him, don’t you?” It’s said with JB’s typical bluntness and intense expression. 

“Yes,” it slips out perhaps without her meaning to, but it’s honest. “I don’t think I know how to stop.” 

This time, Jellybean does slide closer, and twines a hand into Betty’s. 

“Then it’ll work out.” 

A not-so-small part of Betty really hopes so, but that feels dangerous to express aloud. So, swallowing the (stupid,  _ stupid _ ) tears, she gives her sister a watery smile. 

* * *

He’d lived on his own before. It wasn’t like he didn’t know how to take care of himself. It’s just that maybe he forgot to pack more than a few outfits, and it’s not as if a trailer stove is the best place to cook, and his roommate is messy. That, and the fact that he’s recently lost Betty, which just gives the keen sensation of half of him being cleaved off without warning. 

His father tries, he really does. But years of being a gang leader have not really made him the most functional on his own, much less able to express emotions honestly. He helps, but things could still be going better. The pounding headache he’s currently experiencing and the feverish rush doesn’t exactly help. 

His room in the apartment he shares with his roommate is messy, he hasn’t eaten in awhile, and his thoughts run in a loop out of his control of  _ Betty, Betty, Betty _ , so the incoming illness feels like a hat on a hat in the Russian doll of terrible that is currently his life. 

  
The doorbell rings unexpectedly, producing a loud groan. He’s not expecting anyone, his roommate is out for the weekend, and the door seems so very far away. 

So imagine his surprise when Alice Cooper bursts through his door as though this is an absolutely normal experience. 

She immediately wrinkles her nose and states, “It smells terrible in here, Jughead, honestly,” in lieu of a more...human greeting. 

He’s staring, and he knows it, but he also knows he looks terrible. She strides over to him, tipping her face back in protest of the smell. 

“Jughead,” she says. “When was the last time you showered?”

“Nice to see you too,” he mutters. “I’ve been fine, thanks for asking.” 

“You haven’t been fine, Jughead, don’t bother lying to me.” 

She lays a hand on his head and look, his head is warm but the hand feels kind of nice.

Alice clicks her tongue decisively. “Fever,” she says. “No surprise, given the state of things here.” 

“Thanks for the compassion, Alice,” he groans. “I didn’t actually have time to polish the silverware.” 

“Oh, stop it, Jughead, you know what I mean. You’re sick, and you know it. Now go to sleep, I’ll handle things here.”

He wants to protest, but he really,  _ really  _ doesn’t have the strength. 

He falls asleep, he assumes, and wakes up to a room he’s not sure is his own. For one thing, it’s clean. For another, there’s something he can smell cooking on the stove. When he finally manages to stumble out of bed, he sees the rest of the apartment as clean, not to mention the windows letting in actual air, for the first time in weeks. It’s all a little relieving, and he feels marginally better already. 

“Good morning, Jughead,” Alice says, still acting as if this was an everyday occurrence. He notes her face is a little pale, and she seems to be fighting a grimace at the smell of the food. He thinks idly that she better not be sick too, or getting him sicker. 

“I see you can walk. Then perhaps,” Alice shoves a bundle of clothing at him, “you can also find the strength to take a shower.” 

It’s ostensibly a request, but Jughead has lived with Alice long enough to know that the question format is mostly a facade. What she means is, he’s going to take a shower, and frankly, he still feels like shit, so he doesn’t argue. 

He does, however, insist he can shower on his own, and Alice looks obviously grateful. The bundle of clothes she’s shoved into his arms, he finds out, is soft pajamas and a towel, all freshly laundered. And by the time he gets back, with barely the strength to crawl into bed, much less make conversation, Alice is putting containers of prepared food in the freezer and has changed the sheets on his bed. They are soft and cool, and were his head not jackhammering away, he’d be in a state of near bliss. 

As if summoned, a cup of water and two Advil appear beside him, both of which he takes gratefully. 

He still feels like crap, but the state of before and now is night and day. 

He feels the bed dip as a hand strokes his hair back gently, and it feels so motherly and wonderful that he feels himself being sucked into sleep quickly. 

He has to know first, though. 

“Alice, why are you here?” 

She doesn’t answer right away, but eventually, he hears a sigh. 

“What is a mother, if not there for her children? That means all of them, Jughead.” 

There’s an odd tone to her voice, something hiding beneath the surface. He fights the darkness tinging his vision a little longer, and he’s warm all over, warm with fever, but also the feeling of  _ family _ , something he holds onto with both hands. 

“But me and…”

“That doesn’t matter, Jughead. Family is still family. You are still family.” 

That’s all he hears before the darkness descends. 

  
  
  


(It’s two months later that he’s home for Christmas, locked into a room by their loving, ever-evolving family with his ex-girlfriend, and a lot of things are said, but the most important one is this:

“Wait, so if you don’t want anyone else and you want to make this work, and I want that too, what’s the issue?”

“I don’t remember,” follows this, and then his arms are full of Betty and her hands are on his cheeks, in his hair, and things are okay.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone note some subtle clues in this chapter?
> 
> I may or may not make them into something. Or, in the style of the Riverdale writers, I may never mention it again.


	12. life is going to find you when it's supposed to

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She submits to the blood test, and the doctor tells her to come back in an hour. Betty calls to check in, and she tells her to go back to class. She’s fine, she’ll get her results, get her prescription, and pick up Jellybean from school. It’s FP’s turn to cook tonight, ostensibly, so that means she’ll at the very least have to sit in the kitchen and gently correct him. She doesn’t mind, though. It’s sweet how he tries.  
> The doctor has an odd expression as she’s called back in. She tells Alice there was something abnormal on the results. That sends her stomach sinking immediately. Her mind runs through the list of possibilities. Cancer. Multiple Sclerosis. Heart disease. She’s not young, she knows she’s at greater risk. She just thought…things had been going so well. She and FP were strong, and a strong parenting team to a headstrong middle schooler, and grown children. Betty and Jughead were still apart, but nobody expected that to last.  
> She’s been through a lot on her own, but she can’t help but want FP here, holding her hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, let's do some Riverdale math. It's canon that FP celebrated his 50th Birthday in season 3. It's also canon that Charles was born approximately 25 years before season 2. 
> 
> So, Season 2 occurred in 2017. Twenty-five years before 2017 was around 1992. Assuming the parents were around 17 at that time, that puts their age at around 42 in 2017, and 44 in Season 4. Come on, Riverdale. This is basic math. Also it makes this chapter a bit more plausible. Enjoy!

**Prompt: Continuation of last prompt**

* * *

Alice Cooper would not recommend Menopause to the casual observer. Its effects hit her slowly, but they are irritating, at best. 

It feels odd to just be starting a journalism career in her late forties, but she thrives on her work at the station. These days, though, she’s just grateful it has a bathroom nearby her office that she can duck into to throw up, on a basis approaching regular. Food smells made her nauseous and came close to ruining she and FP’s latest date night. 

(They’d salvaged it, though. He’d sweetly brought her soup in bed and pulled her into his arms while they watched the news, fingers running over her aching stomach. Alice likes to think that despite the circumstances, it was one of their better date nights.) 

She makes an appointment with her regular doctor, two weeks out because it’s not like this is going anywhere anytime soon. 

She hates it, though. Her whole body seems to ache, the smells, the nausea. She snaps at Jellybean once and has to bake cookies to apologize. 

* * *

FP is working, so Charles drives her to the doctor. He offers to wait, but she tells him to go. It’s an in and out appointment. Just a check-up, maybe a blood test and a prescription for an antiemetic. She hates that this whole process insinuates her age, something she’d instead not think about. 

She submits to the blood test, and the doctor tells her to come back in an hour. Betty calls to check-in, and she tells her to go back to class. She’s fine, and she’ll get her results, get her prescription, and pick up Jellybean from school. It’s FP’s turn to cook tonight, ostensibly, so that means she’ll at the very least have to sit in the kitchen and gently correct him. She doesn’t mind, though. It’s sweet how he tries. 

The doctor has an odd expression as she’s called back in. She tells Alice there was something abnormal in the results. That sends her stomach sinking immediately. Her mind runs through the list of possibilities. Cancer. Multiple Sclerosis. Heart disease. She’s not young, and she knows she’s at higher risk. She just thought…things had been going so well. She and FP were strong, and a strong parenting team to a headstrong middle schooler, and grown children. Betty and Jughead were still apart, but nobody expected that to last. 

She’s been through a lot on her own, but she can’t help but want FP here, holding her hand. 

“Miss Smith,” Dr. Corriveau begins. “Your test results showed an elevated level of hCG.”

“Is...is that bad?”

“It’s...it’s not consistent with Menopause, Ms. Smith. It’s, in fact, consistent with…” 

The doctor pauses, and Alice’s heart pounds. She wants FP. She wants Betty. She wants not to be alone during this. 

“It’s consistent with what?”

Dr. Corriveau bites her lip. “It’s consistent with pregnancy, Ms. Smith.” 

It’s heart-stopping but so ridiculous that Alice almost bursts out laughing in the middle of the doctor’s office. 

“I’m not  _ pregnant _ , Doctor. I’m forty-six. I have three grown children. I can’t be pregnant.” 

The doctor eyes her notes. “The hormone levels we found in your blood tell us you are, Ms. Smith.” 

“No, it’s...it’s Menopause. These are...the symptoms I’ve been having are signs of Menopause.” 

The doctor shakes her head. “Menopause and pregnancy do share some symptoms in common, Alice. It’s not uncommon to mistake one for the other.”

She wants to laugh, but also wants to cry, because this is impossible, right? Charles is grown. Betty and Jughead are in college. Jellybean will be in high school in a year. This part of her life was over. She’s forty-six, for god’s sake. Surely, she couldn’t be pregnant? 

But then, there was the nausea. And the aches, and the tiredness. 

And she and FP had undoubtedly been more...active than she had been in many years previous. They didn’t pay much attention to birth control for precisely the reasons she couldn’t be pregnant. She was too old, and even if she  _ was _ pregnant, inevitably that came with increased risks?

“Is...is it healthy?” she finds herself asking. 

The doctor hesitates for a moment. “It does put you at a high risk of some complications, for both you and the baby.” 

_ Baby _ . Good god, it had been 18 years since her last pregnancy. She was a grandmother. She feels thrust into a dream world. 

Dr. Corriveau lays a hand on her leg. “Alice, you know you have options, right?” 

She nods woodenly. Yes, she knows. She knew at seventeen, and she knows now. 

But she had done this before. She had gotten pregnant by FP and not told him. Back then, she’d thought it was for the best. It had blown up in her face, and she did not want that again. 

“And no matter what you decide, you have some time.” the doctor assures her. Again, she nods stiffly. 

“How...much time?” 

“Well, you’re at about ten weeks, give or take. So you have a few weeks if you want to think about it.” 

Ten weeks. That’d have been shortly after Betty and Jughead left for college. Jellybean was out with a friend and there had been flowers, and she had been struck by just how  _ different  _ this was from Hal. 

And in that moment, they hadn’t used any protection. 

And now they were here. 

* * *

FP knows her well, but Alice is used to hiding things. She barely looks at him as she goes home, assures him she’s fine and goes up to their bedroom to rest. 

She feels a sense of numbness, like this isn’t really her life. That’s, in actuality, not an unfamiliar feeling. She had been existing in a stasis with Hal for so long; it’s almost comforting to slip back into it. She does what she always did; she pretends everything is fine. She helps Jellybean with her homework, cooks some food to send with Charles, listens to FP talk about his day. And after they’re asleep, she passes a disbelieving hand, one single time, over her belly, and lets out a huff. 

And that’s the way it continues for a week. She’s dazed, and FP is starting to notice. She just keeps telling him she’s fine, she’s  _ fine _ , work is busy, but everything is okay. She pushes words like abortion, geriatric pregnancy, and adoption to the back of her mind, saves them for the night after FP has gone to sleep. 

Even in a haze, adoption is out of the question. It nearly killed her the first time. There is absolutely no way her heart could take giving up another one of FP’s children. Which leaves abortion and keeping the baby. Both of which sound overwhelming, so it gets pushed down further.

And that is where it may have stayed, but for a late Tuesday at work. 

She’s exhausted, particularly so recently, and an ongoing story has been taking up all of her time. The day finally ends close to one in the morning, and she can barely keep her eyes open on the way back. 

She’s three streets away when she feels the impact of the other car, driving on the wrong side of the road. She jerks, then is hit in the face with the airbag. Then she smells smoke, lots of smoke, and distantly hears calls for an ambulance. 

All that would be manageable. She’s been through worse. But then she feels a hard cramp in her stomach. 

“Oh, no. Oh, no no no,” she mutters, shaking her head. “No, please no.” 

She lays a hand on her belly, stroking over the skin. “No, please be okay. Please stay with Mama.” 

* * *

  
  


It’s the first thing she screams when the ambulance takes her, “I’m pregnant, check the baby.” 

The second thing is FP’s cell number.

* * *

He’s at the hospital at or around the time where she is insisting she be discharged. It was a minor fender bender, nothing serious. Nothing that can’t be helped with over the counter pain medication at home. A few cuts, and a cramping stomach. 

The paramedics had said the baby seemed to be okay, and that eased things a lot. She knows she should stay for the ultrasound, but there’s a sense of panic rising in her. Get out of this hospital, her mind screams at her. 

That’s where she is when FP bursts through the door. 

“Alice,” he gasps. “Are you okay? What happened?”

She reaches for him, grasps his hand. “It’s okay, FP. I’m okay. But…”

The doctor will tell him, she knows. But it should come from her. For better or worse, it should come from her. 

“It’s mostly just bruising, but that’s not why they’re keeping me here.” 

His brow furrows. Alice’s heartbeat picks up. “Then...why?”

She takes a long inhale and plucks up every last bit of courage. 

“They’re keeping me here...to monitor the baby.”

He doesn’t even react at first. Then, his face shifts. He’s stunned, she sees. 

“B..baby?” 

She nods. “I found out a few weeks ago. And I wasn’t...god, FP, I wasn’t expecting it. It was a shock and I was just trying to figure out…”

“How to avoid telling me?”

“No!” she reaches for his hand again, but he clenches it at his side. “No, I was going to tell you! I just didn’t know how to process it enough to tell you.” 

“Just thought I’d be a shit father again, I guess.” He leans his elbows on the bed, rubbing his temples. “ _ Fuck _ , Alice.” 

She slides her hand closer to his, but doesn’t dare take it. He’s quiet for a moment. 

“Are you really pregnant?” His voice is gruff. 

She nods. “The doctor said about three months.” 

“And...you’re okay?”

She nods again. “Just a tiny bump, FP. But they want to...they want to check the baby.” 

He looks up at her, eyes red. “The baby...may not be okay?”

She doesn’t know how to answer that. She wants to explain that they’re forty-six and fifty, and stranger things have happened then what was so kindly called  _ geriatric pregnancy _ going wrong. Maybe they should just accept it, she thinks. Things rarely go their way, after all. 

They’re interrupted by Dr. Kovac entering the room, dragging an ultrasound machine behind him. 

  
He smiles kindly at Alice. “Ms. Smith,” he says in a slightly accented voice. “I hear we need to check on your baby.” 

She gives a slow nod and lays back when he indicates. Lifting her shirt to above her belly, she notes FP’s inhale. 

The gel is cold, like everyone says, and her breathing quickens as he lowers the machine to her belly. 

Then the room is filled with a whooshing sound that stops both of them. Anger forgotten, FP’s eyes widen, and he reaches for Alice’s hand. 

She finds her eyes moist, and his are as well. 

“ _ Jesus _ ,” he says. “That’s...that’s a real heartbeat.” 

Alice gives a watery laugh and glances at Dr. Kovac. He smiles reassuringly. “Strong heartbeat. Sounds great.” 

It’s like a gigantic weight has been lifted. FP presses his forehead to hers. “Alice, god,” he says. 

“We’re having a baby.” 

She holds his face in her hands, tears slipping down her cheeks. 

“We’re having another baby, FP.” 


	13. to raise teens with grace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alice presents the idea at Pops, everyone present. 
> 
> “An article,” she says “On how to raise teens among extraordinary circumstances. Proper, supportive parenting.”
> 
> There’s a distinct difference in the way the group looks at each other after this revelation, and how the parents look at each other. While the teens (and even Charles and Jellybean) exchange incredulous looks, the parents look exceptionally pleased with themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo....this is perhaps self-indulgence. I mean, we have our couples here, but this got into a lot of meta. Bit controversial, maybe, I get it if it's not your thing. But I had to get this out. And hopefully, it's amusing? We will return to our regularly scheduled programming next chapter!
> 
> (But meetings of the Hot Moms/Hot Dads club was on the original list of prompts, just FYI)

**Prompt: Hot Moms/Hot Dads/ Parentdale meetings!**

* * *

The idea is first born out of the success that is the prom debacle. 

Rarely have they seen their parents all together at once, especially for a group of people that went to high school together and inexplicably all had children the same year, but it seems that their intervention on Mr. Honey had been a bonding experience of sorts. 

They spend time together now. Kevin has dubbed them “The Hot Moms and Hot Dads Clubs.” There had been objections, but even their children admitted there was a level of attractiveness among all their parents that was higher than normal. 

Now, there are nights spent with wine at the Cooper/Jones house. Ladies nights at the Pembrooke. Sometimes Penelope even joins, though most of the time is spent rolling her eyes and she is  _ very _ carefully monitored. El Royale has suddenly had an influx of their dads wanting to work out together.

It is, to put it mildly, very disquieting. On the nights that they’re at the Cooper/Jones residence, Jughead and Betty escape to Archie’s place and Betty reads, head on Jughead’s lap as he and Archie play video games. 

* * *

And then, of course, there’s the article. 

Alice presents the idea at Pops, everyone present. 

“An article,” she says “On how to raise teens among extraordinary circumstances. Proper, supportive parenting.”

There’s a distinct difference in the way the group looks at each other after this revelation, and how the parents look at each other. While the teens (and even Charles and Jellybean) exchange incredulous looks, the parents look exceptionally pleased with themselves. 

The teens' eyes scan their parents, because surely, they can’t be serious? Really, they can’t have buried themselves in enough naivete to think themselves the foremost experts on parenting? 

But no, they look dead serious. 

In the end, the scoff sneaks out of Jughead’s mouth first. Then Cheryl, then finally a short laugh springs free from Betty. That’s the icebreaker, because after that, giggles erupt from the whole group, until they’re clutching their stomachs and gasping for breath. 

Again, the parents look absolutely stymied. Not even Mary Andrews seems to have the slightest understanding. 

Eyes wide, Alice eyes Jughead. 

“Jug-Head,” she enunciates slowly. “Is there something funny?”

Jughead clutches his stomach, trying to suck in enough air. “You are,” he gasps, turning to face Alice. “You all are just...I mean, with love...just the worst parents.” 

The breath is sucked out of the room all at once. It’s quiet enough to hear a pin drop, and the parents jaws collectively fall. 

It is, of course, Hiram Lodge who finally breaks the silence. 

“Wow,” he scoffs. “A parent devotes their life to raising a child, protecting that child, teaching them right from wrong -”   
  


He only gets that far before Veronica gives a loud scoff. 

Hiram’s gaze swivels toward her. “Something you want to say,  _ mija _ ?”

Veronica’s face lights and she steps forward, but Archie pushes her back. 

“No, Ronnie,” he says. “Actually, let me take this one.” 

Wide-eyed, the adults and teens regard Archie. He shuffles between his feet, but meets Mr. Lodge, head on. 

“Mr. Lodge, I...don’t even know where to start. Is there anyone in this room you haven’t tried to have killed?”

“I have  _ never _ …”

“Indirectly, you have literally tried to kill all of Riverdale by way of your drugs, not to mention hiring some of our own parents to screw us over.” 

Hiram sputters only a moment, his eyes darting around the group, before his face smooths over and he adopts his normal smug grin.

“I think you’re being a bit overdramatic. There’s no proof that…”

But Archie is not done. 

“And those you  _ haven’t  _ tried to have killed, you have repeatedly tried to screw over. That includes your own family, multiple times. The fact that they still trust you is frankly unbelievable.” 

Betty scoffs from behind Archie. “You’re one to talk, Arch. You  _ spot _ him at the gym. As if that tiny, insignificant time he tried to have you framed for murder and thrown into an underground fight club was just water under the bridge.” 

“Yeah, man,” FP snickers from behind him. “What kind of dad are you?” 

“And  _ you _ …” Cheryl rounds on him. He looks instantly intimidated and tries to slide off to the side, but Cheryl Blossom is not someone that allows herself to be ignored. 

“To name but a few things, you were a philandering drunk for most of your children’s lives. You threatened a woman with a snake. You drafted your son into a gang and made him lead it at 16. You are, bar none, the  _ worst _ sheriff that we have ever seen - “ she stops for a moment and points at Tom Keller. “Including the  _ sheriff _ that didn’t know his teenage son had a kidney removed by a psycho cult - and you seem to be under the impression that there are no laws preventing you from being a gang member and a sheriff. Sadly for you, there indeed are.” 

FP sputters for a few moments, an array of excuses and some fairly inconsistent reasoning. Cheryl holds up a perfectly manicured finger and delivers her final blow. 

“You told  _ your son _ that living together was, quote, not going to work out.” 

“I  _ meant _ …” 

Cheryl snaps her fingers closed in FP’s face. 

“No excuses, Forsythe the Second. I daresay there have been enough of those to go around.” 

Eyes alight, she scans the room for her next victim, appraising all the parents before finally turning on Hermoine Lodge. 

“Loathe as I am to give the aptly named ‘Hot Moms Club’ the same treatment,” Cheryl smiles, her face giving away just how false that statement is, “Hermoine Lodge, you are, indeed, no better than your husband here.”

Hermoine’s brow furrows instantly, and vascillates between protesting and casting apologetic glances at her husband. 

“Cheryl, I really don’t think this is appropriate…”

Cheryl sighs, her expression pinched and annoyed. “Why do people insist on interrupting me over and over?” 

In her usual confident stride, Cheryl tosses her hair back and strides over to Hermoine. 

“You are  _ just  _ as manipulative. You bribed the mayor of Riverdale to acquire land, something we should remember in case you - “ She indicates Sierra McCoy with a finger “go thinking that you don’t have your own particular brand of manipulation and incredibly sub-par parenting. And more than that, you seem incredibly comfortable gaslighting and manipulating your teenage daughter into your family’s illegal schemes. It seems that whenever she tries to escape your tyrannical clutches, you have just the manipulation tactic to pull her back in.”

“And Mrs. Andrews,” Betty sighs. Mary Andrews’ face is already white and nervous. “Just because you’re the best parent of the bunch doesn’t mean that’s a high bar.”

“Betty - “ Mary tries, but Betty shakes her head. “You care, and want the best for Archie, and that’s good, but you were gone for a long time, and really only started retroactively parenting after Archie turned 18.” 

Mary’s eyes cast down but she doesn’t fight it. Alice’s hand slides onto her shoulder. 

“Betty,” Alice sighs. We get the idea. I think you may be being just a bit too harsh.” 

Betty looks absolutely incredulous. “Mom,” she says. “You held me to impossible standards my whole life. You sent both me and my sister off to a nunnery, after gaslighting me into thinking she was crazy. You gave my college fund away. You have made me be the parent so many times, I honestly started to get confused as to who actually was the one in charge.”

Sliding an arm around Betty’s waist, Jughead slides up beside her. Sighing, she leans her head into his shoulder. 

“Look,” he says. “We’re not saying you haven’t done a lot for us. We’re just saying that we seem to be consistently expected to forgive you for a lot, so...perhaps an article on parenting is not the best idea.” 

There’s a moment of silence, then Alice gives a stiff nod. “Perhaps not,” she mumbles. “But then, what  _ is _ an article we could all manage?:

“Ten signs your husband may be a murderer?” Reggie shouts from the corner.

(Betty doesn’t know what to make of the fact that this particular suggestion is met with a look of intrigue from several people.)

* * *

Their food comes shortly after, with Pop, once again, breaking the air of tension, and the teens section off to their corner of the Chok’lit Shoppe. 

“Dramatic children,” scoffs Penelope from the corner as they pass her. .

Turning to look at her, Jughead purposefully steers Betty away from her. 

“Why is she even here?” He groans. “She sent us on a nightlong run for our lives. What does she have to do before we finally stop trusting her?”

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come and commiserate with me about parentdale's failures! We love them, but they messy.

**Author's Note:**

> Wasn't that fun? 
> 
> Next up: some Alice and Jellybean bonding.


End file.
